Smoke Spirit (Part 7)

He shoved his lit cigar in Howard’s mouth, who kept trying to spit it out. Douglas ended up shoving it in, nearly down his throat, while Pete plugged Howard’s nose, forcing him to inhale the smoke, watching as Howard’s eyes clouded up–again, not as quickly as Pete’s had, but he could tell that there wouldn’t be much fight left in him soon, and the two of them released his arms.

“Y-Yeah, don’ know what I was thinkin’!” Howard said, “Me…fuckin’…runnin’.”

The smoke was pouring out of him now, like it had out of Pete in the bedroom–first from his mouth, but then it seemed to be pouring out of his very pores. The spirit touched Howard’s running clothes, and they turned black, dissolving into ash and crumbling away, as the smoke began to envelop him. “Son…help your uncle out, would ya? Suck his cock, while I have a…another go at your hole.”

“Aww…fuck yeah, ain’t nothin’ like mah hot nephew’s mouth round mah thick cock, tah clear my drunk ass head out!” Howard said through the cloud of smoke, which had swallowed his entire head. His voice had shifted again, lower, and picked up an accent so thick Douglas thought it only existed in movies and stupid TV shows for hicks. Still, even if it was heavy, it was also…familiar to his ears. Comforting even. The cloud of smoke began to descend lower, covering his chest and flat stomach, and when it reached Pete’s head, it began swallowing up his son as well. He wanted to run, he wanted to do something to save them. He managed to take a step back, and then another, watching the smoke absorb the bottom half of Howard’s body, as well as Pete’s head and neck, planted in his crotch, sucking his cock.

“Come on Pa, thought ya’s was gonna give mah cubby hole another rough plowin’!”

It was Pete’s voice this time, drifting from the cloud of smoke–he wasn’t going to let this happen to him, he wasn’t going to give into this any more. The spirit beside Howard on the chair walked over to him, once it realized he wasn’t simply going to give in, and started stroking Douglas’s cock, pulling him forward into a kiss, the things mouth hot and dry–like eating an ashtray, and yet he was so turned on, he couldn’t help but moan.

“Please…don’ do this tah us,” Douglas said, his own voice picking up the same accent as his two roommates, “We ain’t done nothing tah deserve this, it ain’t right. I’m sorry ya lost yer family, but I ain’t gonna do this.”

But even as he protested, the spirit was stroking harder on his cock, pulling him forward, step by reluctant step, until the spirit had it lined up with Pete’s ass, and unable to resist–just…wanting to know if his son’s hole felt as good as he remembered it–he slid inside with a low groan. The spirit straddled Pete’s body, weightlessly, it’s form joining the thick cloud of smoke covering the front half of his body and still spreading further, inching closer to where Douglas was now fucking his boy’s tight, wet hole. He had to stop, but he couldn’t. The spirit kept kissing him, pushing into him, breathing into him, and Douglas…felt little bits of his soul heating up, drying and blowing away with each smoky exhale. The smoke was beginning to coat him as well–he could feel his son’s hole, but he couldn’t see him anymore, and the only evidence he had that Howie–no, not Howie, Howard–existed was the occasional moan and smack of his boy’s mouth around his uncle’s cock. Douglas gave in, too tired to fight, too hungry for smoke, and the smoke enveloped him again–but this time, the sensation was different.

Before, the heat had been inside him body, as his muscles had grown–and there was still some of that heat, mostly concentrated in his gut and chest. He also felt heat on his skin however, sometimes searingly hot, enough to make him wince and flinch as he fucked his son’s hole. The tenuous connection he’d felt form between his son and him deepened, and he found himself forming the same link with Howard–no, with Howie, of course. With…with his brother. Memories came to him, more than he could really begin to process, from his time spent growing up with Howie, the two of them jumping one another’s bones every chance they could as soon as they’d figured out what their cocks were even for. In the trailer park, in the woods, back behind the school when they should have been in class–they’d been, quite literally, as close as two brother’s could be. As the older one, Doug had always been the one to call the shots, and Howie had been his always willing accomplice.

They’d fucked the bitch together, one night at a truckstop–one of the very few times they’d even bothered with pussy, and they’d been surprised with the appearance of Pete about a year later–a three month old infant left in their care–and they’d done as well as they could with Pete. They still weren’t totally sure who the father really was, but for ease, Doug had accepted the official title, while Howie had been the ever-present uncle. Pete had, thankfully, turned out to be as much of a pervert as his daddies, sucking their cocks, getting fucked–anything was good for Pete, as long as a cock was inside him.

Smoke Spirit (Part 6)

Downstairs, they both heard the front door of the house open and close, followed by someone cursing. “Fuck, why does it smell like smoke in here? Douglas? Are you smoking up there, you fuck?” It sounded like Howard, another of their housemates. Before Douglas could decide what to do about that, however, Pete got an excited look on his face.

“That sounds like Unc!” he said, and before Douglas could stop him, he’d shot out the bedroom door, still naked, and ran down the stairs. With a growl, Douglas took off after him, hoping he could put a stop to this before anyone else he knew got sucked into whatever nightmare he was creating around him.

He hit the top of the stairs, when he heard a short exchange.

“Hey Unc! Wait…you don’t look like Unc, but you do sound like him…”

“Who the…what the hell is this, Douglas?”

“Oh I see, you just aren’t Unc yet! Daddy, get down here!”

He rounded the top of the stairs, and realized a bit too late that this is exactly what that smoke thing would want–after all, it had just taken one sniff of smoke for Pete to fall under whatever spell this was in the backyard, but as hard as he tried to get himself to stop, his feet were still moving, heading down the stairs, smoke pouring from his mouth around the cigar, heading out in thick tendrils right for Howard across the room. “You have to get out of here, Howard! Fucking run man, run!” he managed to say, before the smoke clamped his jaws shut around the cigar.

Howard had no clue who that burly, hairy, naked cigar smoking fuck was coming down the stairs, but running was something he was more than happy to do. Hell, it was something he was good at too–Howard was on both the cross country running team, and the swim team at school–both of which gave him a powerful, wiry build, and made him real fucking fast. He did his best to not make a stink about his housemate’s habit, but it disgusted him all the same–and he hated being around smokers, it always hurt his lungs. He turned towards the front door, but the other guy–the younger one who had come down first–blocked his route, so he turned around and headed for the back of the house.

“Don’t worry daddy, I got him!” Pete shouted, and before Howard could get very far, and build up much speed, the cub had leapt and slammed into him, sending them both to the floor of the living room, and the smoke coming from Douglas twined forward and slid into Howard’s mouth. Douglas had expected him to go under like Pete had, outside, but almost immediately, Howard began hacking and coughing, trying to push the smoke back out of him, kicking his legs violently, trying to free himself from Pete’s hold on his legs, and finally a kick connected right in Pete’s gut, making him grunt, and loosening his grip enough for Howard to wriggle free.

He stumbled up, still coughing and hacking at the smoke around him. It defied reason, but for some reason, it felt like the stuff was…trying to get into him, somehow. He hacked harder, and stumbled off towards the kitchen, and the back door to the house, but he felt winded all of sudden, like he just couldn’t get enough air. His head was swimming, and his vision was foggy. He got into the kitchen, and collapsed, still coughing, trying to breathe, and then, two people were on either side of him. “Come on, Howie–let’s get you sitting up. Tied one on a bit too hard last night, I…I think…”

Howie felt his blood chill. On one side of him was the older man from the stairs, but on the other…it wasn’t a person at all. It was some strange figure that seemed to be made out of smoke itself. He thought it just had to be the younger man who’d tackled him, but he could hear him staggering up in the living room, behind ten feet behind him. Still, for being made out of smoke, the thing…could still lift him, and together, Douglas and the spirit hefted Howard up and sat him down in a chair, at the table.

Douglas felt like he was in some fucked up dream. He knew that what he was doing was wrong, that he should be trying to help Howard escape, but he didn’t seem to have control of his body. It was the spirit that was controlling him, putting words in his mouth, and even stranger, they felt like the right words. The words he would say…if he was really in his right mind.

“You…told me to run,” Howie said, but his voice sounded all wrong. Deeper, with a grating rasp, like his neighbor who’d smoked for years sounded.

“Run? Howie, we both know you haven’t run in decades, man. Fastest I’ve seen you go is a quick lumber over to the cupboard for a nice, big snack.”

“Unc ok?” Pete said, coming down the hall, “He was going crazy back there!”

“Yeah son, your uncle’s just hungover is all, not quite all there sometimes.”

“I wasn’t fucking drinking…I was…I just got back from a run.”

Douglas laughed, “Fuck, you hallucinate some strange shit when you’re drunk. Still, best way out is through, right bro? First of all, let’s get you lit up…here, have mine, I’ll light another.”

Smoke Spirit (Part 5)

Douglas didn’t know what to say–and just looked from the cub to the spirit and back again. He could remember Pete–the old Pete, but looking at the cub–no, at his cub–here in front of him, he could remember him too, somehow, though those details were fuzzier, like he was trying to find them through a haze that wouldn’t quite clear from his mind. “It’s…alright, boy,” he said, finally, but the voice that emerged from his throat surprised him. It was deep, with a smoky rasp that made it seem…old. He sat up on the bed, and from there he could see himself in the mirror, and while he somehow already knew what he was going to see, that did nothing to diminish his shock.

He was old. Alright, so he wasn’t that old. His head was telling him that he was 46 now, but still, he’d just doubled his age in a matter of moments, and that wasn’t the only change which had happened to him. His old body hadn’t really been anything special–lean, average height, a small goatee, but looking at himself now, he was heavily muscled, even more so than the hulked out Pete kneeling in front of him on the bed, and his new height of six foot three only made him seem even larger. He got up, trying to push back the sense of vertigo which threatened to overwhelm him, and strode over to the spirit standing off to the side of the room, watching him. “What the fuck is going on? What the fuck did you just do to me and my son?” he asked, the word “son” popping out without him even thinking about it…and he realized it was true. He looked at the mirror again, where he could see both him and Pete, and realized just how…similar they looked to one another. His gut started churning again, but he felt a warmth against his cheek–the spirit’s hand had stroked his bearded cheek. He turned back towards it, and saw it was already dissipating into the air. “Wait! Please, just tell me what’s happening to me! What the fuck do you want with me?” he asked, and this time, he did get something in return.

It was difficult to describe what he felt. Some of it was emotion–that was the strongest bit. There was longing, and a deep abiding love that surged through him, a love for…for a family. His family! Douglas tried to think back, tried to think of his mom and dad, but he couldn’t catch anything. Instead, he could see… his son and two other people, but the haze was so thick around the others, it was difficult to tell even broad details about them, but they were there. He had to find them! No…No, “find” was the wrong word. The smoke was trying to tell him something else. He didn’t have to find them.

He needed to make them.

With that, the spirit was gone from the room, losing form and becoming a fog, sliding it’s way back into the head of Douglas’s cock, even as he tried, with his hands, to keep it from returning to him. Pete got up and walked over to his father, wrapping his own strong arms around Douglas’s broad chest, and he was surprised how comforting it felt, being close with his son.

“Don’t worry dad, you’ll help them too, I know you will! Just like you helped me. And then we’ll be a family again, just like before.”

Douglas pulled away, and went to his phone, where he pulled up Scruff. He hadn’t expected to see a reply from that fucker, but sure enough, there was. He pulled up the message and saw what Bandgar had told him in reply.

I did try to warn you. Still, I gave you someone I’m sure you’ll enjoy. Just don’t fight him, and help him make his–well, your–family. Then, when all is said and done, come find me, and we can all have some real smoky fun together. The way ya’ll ride, you’ll catch up to the tour in no time. See you soon, Daddy.

He needed a cigarette. No–No, fuck that, he needed a fucking cigar. His big hands shaking, he grabbed one of the cigars his son had brought back–they had seemed so much larger, back when he was smaller–but found lighting it to be completely natural. He took a deep inhale of the smoke, glad that Pete had brought his favorite brand, and exhaled two thick plumes through his nose. What was he stressing about, anyway? He looked over at Pete, his own cock stirring again, and fuck if his boy wasn’t the sexiest cub in the whole damn world! All he really wanted to do was plow that boy’s ass like he’d been doing earlier–or had he been doing that? He had felt, for a second, like he’d witnessed himself in two places at once, but the feeling disappeared quickly.

No–he shook his head, harder, and pulled the cigar out. He was falling into this trap, whatever it was. He could fight this, he could! But as soon as he’d thought that, a second vision came to him. The spirit leaving him, and entering his son instead. Then he…well, if Pete became the new father, then that meant he would be the new son. It was a threat, and a good one. His eyes, unlike Pete’s, were still human, and somehow, he didn’t think there was really much of a mind left in his old roommate’s head. Or at least, not much of his old mind.

Smoke Spirit (Part 4)

He begged him not to, but Pete walked over, after getting the cigar blazing nicely, and slid it into Douglas’s mouth. It tasted…heavenly. More than just tobacco, it felt…right, in his mouth. What he should have been smoking this entire time. The taste of it, the feel of the smoke in his mouth and in his lungs as he drew it into him. The thing inside him–the hunger–it gobbled down the smoke, so much that when he exhaled, almost nothing came out of his nose aside from a wisp–and he took a deeper inhale, feeding it, desperate for the pain to stop, he never wanted to feel that way again. The hunger, however, remained. It twisted into something else, and when he looked up at Pete, watching him light a second cigar for himself now he could…sense something unfinished. Still, it could wait a moment, but as soon as Pete got his own cigar burning, Douglas grabbed him by the shirt and pulled him closer to the bed, Pete’s knees buckling as he swallowed Douglas’ throbbing cock to the hilt.

Smoke was pouring out of Douglas again with every shuddering exhale. The cigar–it was more powerful somehow, and the spirit began to form again–a full head now, hands up past the elbow, and a massive, throbbing cock and pendulous balls. He found himself entranced, watching the spirit’s cock, how one moment it seemed to literally float in the air, while the next it had all the heft and weight of flesh. It kissed him again, and while before he had gotten weak…impressions, this time it was forceful, directions and orders imprinted across his consciousness. He backed up on the bed, forcing Pete to climb up onto it with him as he chased Douglas’s cock–taking breaks only to take in more smoke himself. Douglas watched the spirit for any sign of acknowledgement, but received nothing. Still, he had done what it had…asked, in a sense. It floated around behind Pete, it’s hands lying on his clothes, and embers leapt from them. Douglas panicked, as flames consumed them, worried his roommate was about to be set on fire, but he was unharmed–simply naked. Then the thing came closer, hands gripping Pete’s hips and slid it’s cock inside him.

Pete howled–though whether it was in pain or pleasure Douglas wasn’t sure. One thing he did see, was his eyes immediately clouding over entirely, becoming a solid smoky grey–even cloudier than they had been before, outside on the patio. He began sucking harder on Douglas’s cock, neglecting his own cigar entirely now, and Douglas gripped the sheets in pleasure. It was like the night before, when that…mouth had sucked him off, how it had drawn…something out of him, or through him, perhaps. The spirit was fucking Pete at a slow, steady pace, sliding in deep with each thrust, and the next time Douglas managed to look up, he could barely see Pete at all. The smoke in the room had become so thick it was difficult to see, though breathing was somehow easier than ever. It took a moment for him to realize where the smoke was coming from–not from their mouths, and not from the spirit–but from Pete, like it was somehow seeping from his very pores all over his body, like everything inside him was smoke now–like he had been consumed from the inside out. A minute later, he couldn’t be seen at all–though he had to be there in some form, because something was still sucking forcefully at Douglas’s cock. His eyes shifted up, and he saw that the spirit’s eyeless face was directed at him now, and the smoke from Pete’s body was curling up into wisps, and they were swirling towards him now. He tried to pull away, but the mouth sucking him off kept him rooted in place as the smoke settled over him, dug into him, seeped into every crevice, coating him in a blanket of soft grey. He couldn’t see, but he could feel something happening to him and his body…but he could also feel Pete, somehow. Not just feel him sucking him off, but some…connection to him, in a way he couldn’t quite explain. Pete was tethered to him. Pete was his. He owned him. The sensation was building inside him, and he came forcefully, bucking on the mattress, but Pete’s mouth never left his cock, and continued to suck even after he had collapsed back, heaving for smoke.

Soon after, the smoke began to dissipate. Much of it was drawn back to Douglas, sliding back into his body, where he could sense it…belonged. He could see the room again, through the haze. The spirit was still there, but standing off to the side of them both at the foot of the bed. Whether it had cum or not–whether it needed to cum or not–he could sense it was finished with Pete. His muscles ached for some reason, but Douglas managed to prop himself up and look down at Pete, who was still nursing his cock, and saw that the nerdy, long limbed roommate he’d had that morning was no longer there. Instead, he saw some muscled cub sucking hungrily at his cock, taking occasional breaks for an inhale off his cigar, before continuing. Douglas pushed him off, and the cub sat back on his heels, giving Douglas a better look at his new body. His chest and arms were thick with muscle, but with a slight gut–and a sizable cock jutting out below–all of it coated with a perfect dusting of brownish red hair. His beard was trimmed short, as was his hair–but his eyes…they were empty. A…perfect, flat grey surface. “Sorry Daddy,” Pete said, smiling around his cigar and seemingly perfect normal aside from his empty eyes, “Guess I got a bit carried away there, but your smoke always gets your cubson horned up so bad.”

The Contractor’s Boy (Part 8)

Roger arrived back at the house and let himself in, pleased to hear the sounds of fucking coming from the den. He dropped the paint by the door and headed in that direction, where he found Gary bent over on the floor, Shane behind him slamming his cock into his father’s hole, growling as he did–at least until he looked up, saw Roger, and realized what, exactly he was doing. “No–No no no…” he said, pulled his cock out and backed away a few steps.

Gary, confused as to why he wasn’t getting fucked anymore, looked behind him and saw Shane had retreated. “What’s wrong fucker? This faggot hole ain’t gonna fuck itself! I though you were gonna show me what a real man fucks like?” He shook his ass, and Shane stared at it, rapt, but tore his eyes away and glared at Roger.

“You fucking did this, sir, you set this up!” he shouted.

Roger shrugged, “I suppose your father here wasn’t very interested in escaping, eh boy? Did that surprise you?”

“The fucker–all he fucking wants is a to sit around, drink and smoke, and get fucked!” Shane shouted, “He fucking wants this, and this is all your fucking fault!” Shane said, stalking towards him. “We were happy! All of us, and you just fucked everything up. Why couldn’t you have just left us all alone!”

Roger leaned on the doorway, and looked from Shane to Gary. “You want me to leave the two of you alone? I could do that, you know. I’ve been alone a long time, and I don’t want to spend years of my life with someone who doesn’t want to be with me. If you want to be here, with him, I can arrange that. I just…well, you didn’t strike me as someone who’d want to live life as a faggot pig,” he walked towards Gary, “What did my boy think of you, Gary? Do you think he likes you?”

“No sir,” Gary said, face to the carpet, “He thinks I’m disgusting sir. He said so himself. He thinks I’m wasting my life. I got him so angry, he was gonna fuck me real rough like before you came back.”

“That’s not–I didn’t mean that,” Shane said.

“You didn’t?” Roger asked, looking back at him, “So you’d be ok if I made you a faggot pig like your old man here? Just think, the two of you lounging around together all day, doing nothing, men coming over at all hours to fuck your holes, feed you piss–feed you shit, even, if you beg hard enough. A nice family of faggots–like father like son. Sounds hot to me boy–get out of those coveralls and boots. We can find some nasty underwear of your dad’s to wear, I bet.”

Shane started stripping, but as he did, he found himself gripped with fear and loathing. No–he didn’t want to be like him, he wanted to be free of this, didn’t he? “That’s not–I don’t want to be like him sir! I’m not like him!” Shane shouted, but his hands were stripping off his clothes already. He hadn’t been naked in ages, and the thought of it was…unsettling to him.

“I thought you wanted to be with your father, boy.”

“Not like this! I hate this, I fucking hate him!”

“Well boy,” Roger said, walking over, “You only have two choices here, so let me spell them out for you. You strip off that gear of mine and join your father as a total faggot, just as disgusting and appalling and shameless as he is, or you stay with me, and be my boy. My boy for real–you fuck that faggot’s hole, and you cum in deep, and you ain’t gonna remember that old life of yours anymore. You’re gonna be my boy for good–forever. But put on that underwear, and you ain’t never gonna forget what you were. You won’t be able to stop being a faggot, of course, but you’re gonna know boy. But it’s your choice. What’s it gonna be?”

Shane was naked now. He knew there were other options, but what? If he stayed with his dad, there was hope–a thin sliver. He might be able to tell someone. He’d at least know–but did he really want to know? Did he want to live like this? He imagined himself there on the ground beside his father, that hungry look in his eye. “Please, I can’t…”

“I’ll tell you something else, boy–right now? Your father knows too.”

Shane felt his stomach twist.

“He knows who he was. If you fuck him, though, he’ll forget. It’s torture for him, you know. He hates himself. He just wants to be free. You can give that to him, to you both, if you just fuck him.”

It could be a lie, he knew that. He couldn’t very well ask his dad and know for sure. It didn’t change anything, really. He couldn’t imagine being trapped like this–knowing what his life had been, and forced to humiliate himself day in and day out. He walked over, drooled some spit onto his cock, and shoved it back into Gary’s hole. “I’m sorry dad, I’m so fucking sorry…” he muttered.

“Don’t be sorry, you hot fucker! It’s what we both fucking want. Now breed my piggy hole, like a proper fucking man!”

“Yeah–fuck that pig rough. Be selfish. I want a selfish boy,” Roger said, “A boy who only cares about his pleasure, and mine too, of course. Who takes what he wants, and doesn’t bother asking. Who’s greedy, and nasty, and rude. Come on boy, smack that pig around, show him who’s boss around here!”

Shane smacked his father’s ass, and felt a jolt of pleasure. He was close–so fucking close. Could he do this? Was he really going to give into this? He tried to hold back, but Roger urged him over the edge, and…and why fight it? It felt fucking good, didn’t it? Yeah–raping a pig’s hole always felt fucking good though–not that you could really rape a pig like this. They would take a fuck any day, and anywhere–fucking disgusting, but what did he care? Still, he took his own pleasure after, eating his own cum back out from the pig’s hole–he did love a filthy ass, after all, and he was pretty sure this pig hadn’t wiped up in days.

“Boy, you can eat hole later–we gotta finish painting.”

Reluctantly, he pulled free, licking his lips. “Yes sir, sorry–just hungry is all.”

“You’re always hungry boy!” Roger said, but hauled him up and kissed him, “That’s just how I fucking want you though.”

Shane laughed, “Yes sir! I’m your greedy fucking pigboy sir!” he laughed, and lit a cigar. He felt…good for the first time in a long time. He felt like himself. He felt happy, and free, and as always, it was all thanks to Sir.

The Contractor’s Boy (Part 7)

The next few days, while they were alone in the house together, Shane realized that he was zoning out more than he had in quite a while. In fact, over the past month, he’d been surprisingly lucid and aware of himself–and of what Roger was doing and saying at any given moment, but this reminded him of when he’d just arrived home from college. Roger was changing things again, planting ideas and directions in his head, but he had no idea what they might be. College–that was something he hadn’t thought about. The trees were starting to change color, and he should have been back on campus weeks ago–but that wasn’t his life, not anymore, and he was starting to doubt it ever would be again.

After all, even if he could figure out what Roger was doing to him and his father, what then? It felt like his imagination had shrunk–the idea of ever being without Roger, without being his boy, it seemed so far-fetched as to be impossible. Still, it was his father he felt the most sympathy for, more than himself. Watching him everyday, in the same ill-fitting suits, leaving the house for work with a belch, half drunk from the beers Roger made him drink each morning–there was no sign at all that he could even tell something was wrong with all of this. But worse–he seemed so happy now. Before, he’d always seemed so stressed, and angry. It had been hard at times, especially for his mom, but this wasn’t better.

Then, on a Wednesday, Shane was painting when he heard the front door open, and his father came in. At first, he thought he must have zoned out longer than he’d thought, but it really was only shortly after noon–far too early for him to be home already. He came in and found Roger, a big grin plastered on his bearded face, and announced, “Fuck feels good–finally got my ass fired today! Don’t have to wear this fuckin’ shit anymore, don’t have to go to fuckin’ work, fuck!”

He started ripping off his clothes while Roger congratulated him, but Shane could only see the glee on his father’s face–and in that moment, something shifted in him. He knew, as his son, he should feel sympathy for him, that his father had loved his job–but instead, what welled up was contempt. He was so fucking happy about not having to work anymore, but here Shane was, working up a sweat every fucking day. He was too stupid to even realize he was being controlled by Roger! He pushed the feelings aside, but by the time they left, his dad was planted in a recliner, naked aside from some nasty looking underwear, smoking and drinking…and Roger winked at him as they stepped out the door, but didn’t broach the subject.

From that day on, his father was always home while they were working, but he didn’t seem particularly interested in Roger and Shane–that is, unless they were having sex. Then, it seemed like he was always there, watching, staring at Shane in particular with a look of desire in his eye that made Shane…hate him. Didn’t he realize it was his own son he was lusting after? Why couldn’t he fight it? Why couldn’t he at least try and help? Did he want this? Had he been wrong about him all of this time? That weekend, the first of many visitors appeared at the house, other men arriving to see his father, “friends” of his that Shane had never seen before in his life, and his father had sex with all of them, begging the fat, dirty fucks who came by to fuck his drunk ass. Worse, listening to his father beg for cock would make Shane incredibly horny–and Roger, seeing his boy with a hardon, would of course encourage Shane to take a break, and go watch his father get fucked while he jacked off. Shane didn’t know if he obeyed because he had to, or because he wanted to. Still, he held out hope all the same–and then, he was given an opportunity so golden he couldn’t resist it.

One afternoon, they ran out of paint. When they needed supplies, Roger almost always made Shane go with him to the hardware store, but today, he wanted Shane to keep working while he ran over there quickly–alone. That meant, for close to an hour, he’d be alone with his father in the house–if ever there was a chance to escape, this would be it. He watched Roger go, and as soon as he’d heard the truck drive off, he ran for where his father was in his recliner, drunk. “Gary! Gary, come on, we have to go,” Shane said, “Roger’s gone for a while, and this is the only chance we’re going to get.”

His father just looked up at him in the recliner, and nodded. He stood up, groping himself, and leered at Shane. “Yeah boy, let’s go to the bedroom–I was worried you were just a bottom for him, but looks like you can’t resist this ass of mine either.”

“No, don’t you get it? We can fucking escape!” Shane shouted, shaking his father by the shoulders, “Don’t you fucking remember fucking anything?”

His dad didn’t pay any attention–he just dropped to his knees and dug Shane’s cock out through the hole Roger had cut in his coveralls for easier access. “Yeah boy, let me see that fuckstick of yours–fuck, hard already! You really do want it bad.”

He backed up, and slapped his father across the face, “You fucking idiot, you have to fucking wake the fuck up!”

His father just groaned, “Fuck–god, ya really know how tah treat a faggot properly, boy,” his dad said, hauling his cock out of his underwear, “I love the rough ones.”

“You’re disgusting,” Shane said.

“Fuck–you fucking know it, just a disgusting faggot–that’s all I wanna fucking be. So fucking use me! Beat me, I don’t give a damn. Just make sure ya fuck me with that big cock boy, because that’s what makes this faggot pig real fuckin’ happy.”

Gary crawled forward on his knees and licked at the head of Shane’s cock, making him shiver. He should run. Just forget him, and save himself. But that wasn’t what he really wanted, was it? It wasn’t what either of them really wanted. Instead, he shoved his cock down his father’s throat, listening to him choke, and slapped him again. “Be careful what you ask for, faggot,” he growled.

The Contractor’s Boy (Part 6)

He didn’t give up hope, however. He didn’t know how Roger was doing this to him, to his family, but there had to be someway to convince his parents that he was their son, there had to be someway they could fight this. After an early breakfast on Monday, they got in the truck together and drove back into town to get to work, and Shane had a plan–a long shot, but a plan all the same. He remembered being their kid, but they wouldn’t believe him–still, there was a record of him. His room, photo albums–his school photos hanging in the hallway upstairs. If he could get either of his parents away from Roger, and show them the facts, then he was sure they would remember.

When he stepped inside, however, he realized Roger had been one step ahead of him–he didn’t recognize the home he stepped into. It was the same house, of course, but the family photos which had adorned the tops of cabinets and the walls were gone, just little pinpricks from where the nails had been before. His parents had the same uninterested look in their eyes when they saw him–he was unimportant, he was just a laborer, someone neither of them would need to remember a year from now. Well, that was what his mother saw, certainly, but his father–the look in his eye was…more complicated, but he couldn’t quite decipher it. Roger gave Shane’s father a smoke filled kiss in front of both Shane and his mother, and then his parents left for their jobs, leaving Shane and Roger alone in the house.

It wasn’t until midmorning when Shane managed to excuse himself for a bathroom break, and snuck upstairs. His room was gone. Emptied, stripped. His parents must have spent the last day removing every piece of evidence that he’d ever existed here. It was so complete an erasure, that he found himself questioning his own memories. It wasn’t any real confidence which convinced him otherwise; it was Roger’s grin when he returned and saw how despondent Shane was. “Don’t think too hard about the past, boy. It’s gone. Besides, you got a great future ahead of you with me, don’t you?”

“I still don’t understand, sir,” Shane said, “What’s going…I mean, what is this room we’re working on even going to be?”

“Well boy, it was always just an excuse,” Roger said, looking around at the space. It had come together quite well, at this point. It was larger than the bedrooms upstairs, and besides from painting, the flooring, and installing the lighting it was largely finished. “Besides, once she leaves him, he ain’t gonna be able to afford a big place like this, not on his own. Gonna have to go on the market, I think. Still, we won’t have to worry about that for a little while yet–not while they still got savings to burn on home improvement!”

Shane knew he didn’t have long, if he was going to get his parents back to their old selves. Roger could tell, of course, that Shane was trying to fight him, but he seemed unconcerned. Another week passed by, and he’d made no progress. If anything, everything seemed to be…solidifying. He knew the house had been different, but he couldn’t quite remember how. His parents no longer seemed familiar either–no more familiar than a couple of clients he’d gotten to know over a few months time. Roger taunted him, when they were at home, filling in bits of memories, talking about their life together while Shane ate out his ass.

Then, his mother was gone, from one day to the next. They arrived, and found only Shane’s father in the house, crying, but not quite able to articulate why he was so upset. He said he’d lost something, but he couldn’t remember what, exactly, but it had been important. Roger suggested he take the day off from work, and then sat him down and they shared a smoke, Shane sucking Roger’s cock, while he talked Gary through his grief, deadening him to the divorce, making it an old wound, something he’d wanted–and by the afternoon, he was a happy bachelor, lounging about, smoking and drinking…his eyes rarely leaving Shane, watching while he sucked Roger’s cock, or licked his ass clean after Roger had taken a shit.

On the way home that night, Shane had a thought–a hope really. “You wanted my dad, didn’t you? First?”

“Don’t be getting jealous now, boy–trust me, I much prefer you,” especially now that you’re comin’ along so fuckin’ nicely.”

Shane had changed quite a bit over the last few months. His beard had filled in, making him look quite a bit older, to his surprise. He’d packed on close to 40 pounds, as astounding as that was to him, and the hunger had become…normal for him now. He’d had the privilege of a shower only a handful of times, and the funk rolling off him was rather awful–but he loved it, as did Roger–who showered about as rarely as his boy. The coveralls were fitting him a bit better these days, though the ass had been ripped open during a rather…rough session with Roger, who’d wanted to fuck him bad one night, but hadn’t wanted to wait to get the coveralls down. “I know, I’m not jealous, sir…but why not have us both? You could do that, couldn’t you?”

Roger glared at him, “Boy, you must think I’m thick.”

“Sorry sir?”

“You still think you can save him? Save yourself?”

“I just…wouldn’t two make you happier, sir?”

Roger laughed. “It’s been fun watching you struggle, boy, I admit it. But your dad is gone, boy. Long gone. You’re gonna be gone too, sooner than you might think, if you keep this shit up.”

“Sorry, sir, I…I didn’t–”

“Shut yer mouth, boy. Don’t dig your hole any deeper than you already have,” Roger said, and shoved a couple jets of smoke from his nose with a snort, “You aren’t gonna be able to save anyone, boy–so you should just worry about yourself.”

Wake Up!

Lucas was just finishing up in the locker room after practice, and he was the last one out today–he’d been caught chatting with coach on the field for a few minutes, and most everyone was on their way back to the dorms by the time he’d gotten in and started getting out of his uniform. He’d just gotten into his shorts and shoes for the walk back to his room, and was getting his shirt, when he realized someone had been watching him this entire time.

It wasn’t someone he recognized–certainly not anyone from the team. He looked even too young to be in college, actually, but maybe he was a freshman who’d gotten lost. He was peeking around the corner of the locker room, and just…staring at Lucas there, in a way which was making him immediately uncomfortable. “Uh…can I help you?” he asked.

The young man didn’t seem upset that he’d been caught peeping, but his face did flush with excitement. “You…It could be you…” he said, and stepped out. Much to Lucas’ surprise, the young man was completely naked. His face seemed young, but the rest of him was very well developed–lean and muscled, with a massive cock hanging between his legs. Why in the hell was he naked? Sure, it was a locker room, but he didn’t belong in here.

“What the fuck man, are you some fucking faggot?” Lucas asked, and stood up, “Stay the fuck away from me.”

The young man didn’t approach, just stood there, cock swaying. “I would never–not yet. You need to Wake Up first.”

The young man was speaking at a normal volume, but the phrase “Wake Up” seemed to multitudes louder than anything else the young man had said, loud enough that Lucas swore he could see the room shake around them.

“Yes, it could be you! You have to Wake Up daddy! Wake Up! Wake Up!…”

Lucas tried to cover his ears, but the force swept over him all the same, and to his terror, the room was coming apart like an earthquake. The boy was still screaming those two words over and over again, and the ceiling was crumbling, it was going to crush him–

Luke jolted awake with a start, panting, in his recliner, and looked around the room. Where was he? It looked like a fairly normal den, he supposed, but…but he’d just been in the locker room! How had he ended up here? Then he looked down at himself, and the questions only compounded.

This wasn’t his body. Sure, in another 20 years or so, he might have looked something like this, with the soft gut and thick thighs, the low hanging balls and fuzzy belly, but…but this wasn’t right. He stood up and went to turn around, and there, in the doorway, was the boy.

His boy.

His…his son.

His naked son, with that…that big fucking cock of his swinging to and fro, and he could fucking taste it, yeah, that…fucking boy cock felt so good rammed down his fucking throat, and his son loved making his daddy moan like a fucking whore…

Luke shook his head, trying to clear his thoughts. “Where–what did you do? Take me back there! I…This isn’t right!”

“Oh daddy–you know how dreams work! Once you wake up, you can never go back. I thought you might be one, and I was right. I’ve been searching so long daddy, and I finally found you.”

His son advanced towards him, and Luke backed away, but he…wanted to touch him so badly, to please him, to…to satisfy him. Teach him. He was just a boy after all, he had so much to learn.

His boy stopped a few feet away, his cock hardening. It was so fucking big, just staring at it was making Luke’s stomach growl. “Come on daddy–come make your son happy.”

He should. He shouldn’t. His knees shook, but refused to buckle. “I’m…I’m you’re fucking father boy, and…and you’re going to make this right. I don’t know what you did, but fix this right now.”

His son frowned. “Don’t be silly daddy–you can’t go back. You’re Awake now.”

“No! No, this has to be the dream–you did…something to me boy, now fix it!”

The boy smiled, “I want to be reasonable daddy–but if you think this is a dream…then maybe you need to Wake Up again.”

The room sloshed, and Luke lost his balance, one foot…falling through the floor like it was mush. “No boy, not–”

“Wake Up daddy! Wake up if you want, but I’ll always be here.”

Like before, the words had tremendous force, and the walls of the room began to sag around them, Luke’s feet sinking into the carpet. He tried to crawl out, but like quicksand, it was sucking him down, and the last thing he saw before it swallowed him up, was his boy leering down at him, and his massive cock leaking cum like a faucet.

Lou lurched over, fighting off the dream, his body sweating and shivering in terror. Still, he tried to cling to it, but it was fading quickly, and within a minute, it was lost, aside from a vague sensation of drowning. Good–he didn’t want to feel like that again, he never wanted to feel like that. He heaved himself up from the bed where he’d been napping, feeling his fat body settle around him, scratched his ass through his briefs, and waddled over to the bathroom to relieve himself.

It sucked getting old–everything hurt. It felt like just yesterday that he was young, a promising athlete, running and jumping and–

He started to shake again, and felt like he might throw up. No–no, he didn’t want that. He wanted to be old, and feeble, and…and hungry–but hungry for what?

“There you are, Grandpa,” his grandson said in the doorway, naked, his massive cock hard as a rock. Just staring at it filled Lou with such fucking lust, but his old cock didn’t get hard anymore–but he didn’t need to get hard to make his grandson happy. “I need you real bad, I’ve waited so long.”

“Well, you can wait a bit more–Grandpa has to pee,” Lou said with a chuckle.

“No!” His boy shouted, “No! Now! Now, or I’ll do it again, I swear I will!”

He didn’t quite know what his boy meant, but the threat filled Lou with terror all the same, and he got down and started sucking his grandson’s cock, the boy roughly fucking his face, slamming his huge cock down his old throat, but it felt so good. He tried to hold his piss, but couldn’t–and emptied his bladder into the front of his briefs, feeling it run down his hairy thighs and pool around his knees…but it didn’t matter. Keeping his grandson happy was most important. It was his dream, after all, and he never wanted to wake up ever again.

Method Roleplay (Part 5)

He stumbled out of the bathroom, but felt a strange sense of vertigo–he was in a hall, but not…the hall he should be in. The walls were covered with paint that was chipped and peeling, the carpet covered in stains. There should be a doorway across from him, where the computer had been in Brett’s office, but there wasn’t a door–a bit further down the short hall was one, which led to…the bedroom he and daddy shared together.

No, this had been Brett’s apartment, they weren’t living together yet, right? He opened the door, and saw the messy room covered with clothes, and he could smell them both in there, their musk, their sex…fuck, it was so hot, how much it reeked. It got Evan worked up just like it did Brett, smelling the stale, stinking air. His dad’s cum was still dribbling down the crack of his ass, and he ran one hand up it, getting it good and coated, and started licking it off, grunting and moaning as he rubbed his little cock.

Why…had he come in here again? He’d been looking for a computer, right? But…they didn’t have a computer. They were too poor for that–Daddy just had his smartphone, and that was it–but hadn’t they listened to something together? There had been something, he was sure of it, but it was like the harder he tried to grasp it, the further away it got. He…he should talk to daddy about it. Daddy would remember it right? He had to! Daddy was so smart–he was just a dumbfuck little shithead boy–or at least, that’s what daddy said he was, and daddy was usually right about those sorts of things.

He turned around and walked back towards the main room of their apartment. He could hear the TV on, and smell…smoke. The smell concerned him–was something burning? He found his daddy where he expected him, on the couch, watching sports on TV, a can of beer in one hand and a cigar in the other, but this wasn’t right. This apartment wasn’t right. Brett should be changing back to his old self, but things only seemed to be getting even worse. After all, Evan hadn’t said anything about Brett being a smoker, and now he was sucking down cigar smoke? It was like reality was moving around them, and trapping them in the fantasy they’d created.

“Daddy? I…I know it’s hard, but I think we need to change back now?”

Brett looked over at Evan, a confused look on his face, and belched. “What the fuck are you talking about, boy?”

“Re-remember? We listened to that…thing together? That song, or…or somebody speaking? Maybe it was a book. You remember that right?”

“Boy, ya know yer old man’s memory is pretty shot. Ain’t too bright, ya know.”

“But do ya remember?”

“Boy…” Brett paused, “Boy, I remember a lotta shit, but ain’t none a it makin’ much sense right now. But I’m feelin’ a whole lot better, now that I got a cigar ‘n a couple a beers in my gut, and I’d feel a bit better with my boy next to me eating out my nasty pits, so git over here, sit down with yer daddy,” he said, patting the cushion beside him.

Evan didn’t want to disobey him and get another spanking, so he did as he was told. As soon as he was on the couch, Brett threw an arm around him and pulled him in tight, Evan’s face inches from his sweaty pit, and they reeked of sex. He gave a grunt without really meaning to, and felt a bit of his cares slip away.

“Yeah, that’s my sexy boy, ya make yer daddy real fuckin’ happy, ya know that?”

“No daddy, I’m…this ain’t how I’m supposed tah look–it ain’t how we’re supposed tah look. Ya do remember, I know ya do.”

“I was just bein’ thick boy.”

“No! I was lyin’ before! Ya were right! This ain’t right!”

“People can’t git younger, Evan. I ain’t ever gonna be a kid again–the world don’t work like that. How fuckin’ dumb are ya?”

“But daddy–”

“Boy, shut up–I wanna fuckin’ watch TV ‘n not care about shit until work tomorrow.”

“Ya can’t go tah work lookin’ like that! No one’ll recognize you.”

“What the fuck are you talkin’ about?” Brett said, looking at Evan like he was crazy, “I been a mechanic there fer years.”

“Ya ain’t a…mechanic…” Evan muttered, but as he did, he saw his daddy’s clothes change in front of his eyes, becoming a set of grease covered coveralls, his hands coated black, and the scent of oil and metal mingled with the other odors of their apartment. “Daddy, ya gotta stop, or ya ain’t gonna be able tah git back if ya keep goin’!”

“Course not, boy–but I got ya with me, so I’m fuckin’ good.”

“No–No, I’m–this ain’t me daddy, I don’t care what ya wanna be, but this ain’t me,” Evan hauled himself off the couch, and started fishing around for clothes to put on. He had to get out of here–maybe get back to his apartment, where he could remember himself better, and change back. “I ain’t gonna fuckin’ live like this. It was just supposed tah be a game! I don’ wanna live like a fuckin’ nasty pig!”

“Boy, watch yer mouth, ‘n sit yer ass back down this instant.”

“I got a job daddy, I got a future, and a life. I ain’t givin’ that up fer some fucked up fantasy.”

“Please. You? Git a fuckin’ job?” Brett said, standing up, “Boy, yer thick as a fuckin’ brick, ‘n fat, ‘n lazy. They even fired ya from the fuckin’ garage, remember?”

“Daddy, I don’t…wanna remember that…” Evan said, but he could. He could remember how his daddy had gotten him work there after he’d dropped out of high school, but he’d just sat around eating and jacking off until their boss had fired him. And now…now he just…

“All yer fuckin’ good for boy, is sittin’ ‘round here, stuffin’ yer face, jackin’ off like a good pigson, and when I git home ya serve yer daddy like a good little porker should. Ain’t that right?”

“Nuh-uh, ain’t…nah daddy…” Evan said, but his words were slow, and even thicker than they had been. He could feel his body growing, his gut sagging and covering his cock completely, the smells of the room growing more intense. “Mean…I gotta…” and with that, his mind broke. He really was too stupid to figure this out–what the fuck had he been thinking? He knew better than that. He was…he was just his daddy’s pig–he was never gonna be more than that. “S-Sorry dad, I know I’s just a dumb pig ‘n stuff.”

“It’s alright boy,” Brett said, put his hand on Evan’s head, and pushed his 400 pound, idiot son to his knees. “Daddy’s got some nice beer piss fer ya, pigboy–‘n then how’s about we order pizza ‘n git ya fed nice ‘n full?”

Evan liked the sound of that a lot, and he gulped down daddy’s piss, grunting and snorting as he did, and by the time he’d been stuffed full, over two hours later, neither of them would have ever believed that the day before they’d been anyone other than the incestuous pigs they were now.

Method Roleplay (Part 4)

By the time Brett was getting ready to cum in his son’s hole, he’d been plowing him for close to half an hour. The hole, which had started out tight, was now plenty sloppy, with Brett’s copious amounts of pre-cum providing ample lube, while the rest ran down between Evan’s fat thighs. Evan wasn’t think about much beyond the simple pleasures of his father’s cock–just snorting and grunting, one hand tugging at his nipples while the other rubbed the head of his short cock poking out of his fat pad. He’d already cum twice, but that hadn’t slowed either of them down–Brett had just reached around, scooped up as much of his boy’s cum as he could, and used it as extra lube, before ramming his dick back into him. His boy, after all, wasn’t really good with self-control–something he’d spent a while reminding Evan off while they’d been fucking. His son could barely keep his hands out of his pants, even when they were out in public. It would have been embarrassing, he supposed, but Brett wasn’t one to feel much shame. If anything, he was fucking proud that his son was as much of a pervert as he was, right? Still, something was bothering him about all of this, but he was so horny that he could ignore it entirely for a while longer, and feel his balls start to swell slightly, getting ready to dump one of his huge loads deep in his son’s guts, which Evan had been begging for. He started fucking harder, Evan snorting and grunting in time with his father’s deep thrusts, and at last he drove in hard and pumped shot after shot of cum into him, gripping his boy’s fatty sides tight, his sweaty, hairy gut pressed to Evan’s slick back.

“I love you boy, daddy loves you so fucking much…” he said softly, leaning over and licking up some of Evan’s sweat.

Evan was only half listening, as he was close to his third shot, and with a shudder, he blew another load all over the front of the counter, and then collapsed onto it, feeling like he’d taken enough of the edge off that he could finally think again. The bathroom mirror had fogged up, and with one hand he wiped it until he could see himself–this…other self. This wasn’t him–it wasn’t Brett behind him. He could…remember listening to something, and even he hadn’t thought it would really work, but it had done something to them, and now…now they had to figure out how to get back.

Brett’s cock was softening, and he slid out, a gush of cum following him as he did, Evan groaning at the sensation of being empty again. “Fuck boy…that…” he stumbled back, legs shaking a bit. “God, why the fuck do I feel so fucking strange?” he muttered to himself.

“Because this isn’t real, Brett–we’re just…I don’t know if we’re imaginin’ this shit or what, but we gotta go back tah who we were before–ya remember right? Ya were young, not that fat, and–”

“Shut up boy, that was just…I was just bein’ thick I thought. That wasn’t real,” Brett said, looking down at himself, hefting his gut, “I mean, I…kind of remember, but…but then how…”

“It ain’t real daddy, we gotta git back,” Evan said, turning around and looking at Brett, hoping he’d be shifting back towards…who he’d been before. Evan couldn’t really remember who they’d been–not well at least–but he could almost tell that the closer they got, the better he’d remember. Still, Brett wasn’t changing–instead, his daddy looked like he was freaking out. “Dad–Brett. It’s gonna be ok, we can fix this.”

“Ya don’t–use my name, son, ya know better.”

“Brett, we aren’t roleplaying anymore, we’re done.”

“Boy, I am the man a this house, ‘n ya do what I fuckin’ say!” Brett roared, shoved Evan around and bent him back over, before giving his ass ten hard smacks, making Evan count them off and thank ‘daddy’ after each one. When he finished, he…he found it hard to believe how turned on he’d gotten, doing that–how turned on he’d gotten by all of this. But hadn’t he hated the idea of this? Hadn’t…someone, at least? He needed to calm down, but the air in the bathroom stank of sex and sweat and he was so fucking tight–he had to loosen up.

Brett left Evan in the bathroom, and his boy tried to recover from the punishment. He’d been a bad boy, he knew better than to use daddy’s name–why had he done that? He felt awful, and yet he also knew that these feelings, this body, all of it was a lie–but he didn’t know how to disentangle himself from it. Still, getting his ass pounded had gotten him hard–like usual. Maybe…maybe a little longer wouldn’t hurt, right? He looked at himself in the mirror and knew he should be disgusted–that the old him would have been disgusted by this. This had never been his fantasy–he’d wanted to be a twink, not some dirty chubby pig like this–and incest had always turned him off, but he could…see daddy’s face in his, and it was making his cock leak again, but he couldn’t afford to get swept any further away from his real life. The file had warned about something like this, hadn’t it? That’s what he needed to do–get to the file, and maybe he’d figure out a way out of this mess.