Jerry knew he was getting close to figuring out the secret to Pigtown. The guys at the precinct all told him he was crazy to try and stop it, to try and figure out what the bar was doing to the men in the neighborhood. They even pointed out Scrimm, told him that story, but Jerry was never one to listen to threats–that is, until he came home one evening and discovered his sons were missing.

He and his wife searched for days, the entire police force was mobilized, but there was no sign of them anywhere–no one claimed responsibility, no one demanded ransom. But Jerry knew, Pigtown was involved somehow, but he didn’t know why or how. He’d always found himself able to resist the advances of the men there–was that why they were targeting him? He told the precinct Chief his theory, but the older man wouldn’t–or perhaps couldn’t–say anything. His eyes thought, told Jerry all he needed to know.

His wife broke down–she left for her mother’s, and Jerry carried on by himself for another day, before he finally received the gift, and the note.

If you want to be with your boys, you know what to do.

–Rod

That’s all it said. He opened the small box, and inside he found a small cigar and a lighter, but nothing else, no clue or anything. Should he report it? Rod–he’d come across that name over and over again in his investigations, but he had no idea who he might be. But what choice did he have? It was just a cigar, and he’d been able to resist so much else, right?

Jerry was a very different man a couple hours later. The cigar–it just kept growing, and at this point it was stretching his jaw to the limit, but he’d only suck down more smoke, twisting his now massive nipples, stroking his white beard, growing thicker and longer. He didn’t know when his clothes had become leather, but fuck, it felt good on his bare skin, on his massive cock, but as much as he stroked it, he couldn’t seem to climax–and then the doorbell rang.

There, on the stoop, was a cage. And there inside the cage were his two sons. They were naked, but otherwise completely unharmed, but Jerry knew what to do. With strange, inhuman strength, he dragged the cage into his house, his two sons screaming at him to stop, but as soon as he started feeding them his smoke, they changed their tunes rapidly, and their bodies too–both of them becoming chubby, perfectly obedient cigar cubs for their daddy, happy to be home in his arms.

His wife never did see any of them again, but some of the officers at precinct 17 would on occasion, in a dark corner of a bar or alley. Jerry wore a thick metal collar, as did his two cubs–the two boys attached to their father’s collar by two short, thick chains, assuring them that they’d never be apart again, Jerry’s cigar still smoldering in the dark, as big as ever, and unlikely to go out anytime soon.

A Plea For Help (Sketch)

I don’t know what the fuck’s the matter with him. Nothing I do seems to fucking help! Ok, look, let me start at the beginning. Look, you know Jasper, you’ve known him for years, since he was a kid, hell, you’re his fucking uncle for Christ’s sake! Good all american kid, played every sport that ever existed, and was fucking killer at all of them, ever since he was five. Always working out, cared about his body, just like I raised him. I wasn’t about to have some lardass for a son, you know how I feel about fat, worthless fucks like that. No, I was gonna raise my son right.

But then, a few weeks ago, I come home from work a bit later than usual, and I come in and I find Jasper in the kitchen, standing at the fridge, stuffing his face. He was so fucking focused on eating that he didn’t even hear me come in, and he looks up with his eyes wide, something chocolate smeared around his face, and he knows I’ve caught him red handed. I tear into his ass, reminding him that his wrestling coach has ordered him to shave off two pounds so he can slip down into a lower bracket by the next Saturday, and the kid is crying–fucking sobbing really, trying to tell me that he can’t help it, and I can see his eyes flicking to the fridge, again and again, and I know he’s fucking lying to me, and it’s fucking disgusting, what I just witnessed, and I tell him I’m putting him on a strict diet from now on, that no food’s coming into my house without me knowing about it.

But fuck, if the next day I don’t come home and find him right there again, face in the fridge, stuffing himself. And I look in there, and in the freezer, and at the cans and bowls and containers littering the floor, and it’s all this shit I’d never allow in my house–ice cream, cookies, heavy cream–I don’t know where the hell he gets off, buying this shit, but I’m fucking disgusted, and I berate him again, and he apologizes, swears it won’t happen again, but fuck, every day now, he’s there, stuffing his fat face.

He sure as hell didn’t drop the pounds for that wrestling match, and I was so embarrassed to show my face there, that I didn’t even let him go–I grounded him in his room, telling him to think about what he’s done, what he’s doing to his body. I was relaxing down in the den, having a beer, when I hear something in the kitchen, and fuck if my boy’s not in the fucking fridge again, and it’s full! I threw out all the shit he’d bought, and I know he didn’t leave the house. Needless to say, I’m not fucking happy–and so I decide that if he wants to eat it, then fine, he should fucking eat it–all of it.

He keeps eating, pleading with me to help him stop. He keeps trying, and so I start, just, shoving food in the pig’s mouth as fast as I can, and fuck, if when I’m pressed up against that fat fuck, if I don’t feel his rock hard cock pressing up against my thigh, like a fucking faggot! Yeah, you can imagine how I felt about that, right? So I send him to his room again, and later, I go up to have a talk with him, and I hear him in there, fucking jacking off, fucking calling himself a disgusting, nasty pig while he’s at it…and this…I’m not proud of this. I jacked off too, listening to him. Something about listening to him humiliate himself, fuck if it didn’t turn me on something fierce, way hotter than anything that mom of his had ever done, and I can’t stop thinking about it, about that growing gut of his, about those meaty thighs, wondering how they’d look if they were…even bigger.

Look bro, I need help here. I can’t keep doing this by myself. I’ve been stuffing the pig night and day at this point, but he’s still not fucking big enough to be a proper fuck. Hey now, don’t give me that look, you don’t–no, come here! Come here and look at the fat fuck, bro! Look at your fucking pig of a nephew! Yeah, ain’t that a fuckin’ sight? Fuckin’ disgiusting. Go one, you can call him a pig, call him whatever the fuck you want, it’s just a fucking disgusting animal, a fucking toy, right? Right. See? I knew you’d understand once you saw it.

But we gotta get it bigger, don’t you think? But…fuck, it’s holes are so fuckin’ nice, bro. I can’t fucking feed it and fuck it at the same time, and it’s getting too big to feed itself at this point. So look, here’s what I propose–let’s take turns. You feed, I’ll fuck. Then you fuck, and I feed. Perfect fucking system, am I right? No, hey, calm down, I know you’re not a faggot! I’m not a fag either, but fucking a pig doesn’t make you a fag, you know that. Besides, I can see that tent there in those short of yours, you want to at least feel what it’s holes are like, right? Now come on–I’ll feed, and let you get a taste. Trust me, once you fuck this pig of mine, ain’t nothing gonna feel as good again, and with your help, we can get this nasty fuck over 700 pounds by the end of the week! What do you say? Thanks bro, I knew I could count on you–now make that piggy squeal for me, I love it when that fat faggot squeals.

Family Portrait (Part 4)

WARNING: INCONTINENCE PLAY

In the end, the game was on, but none of the three of them were paying much attention to it. Marty was too busy making sure his new big brother Bob was well under the portrait’s influence—and making sure his brothers started getting along. Much of the first quarter was spent in what Marty thought of as the “kiss and make up” stage–he parked Keith and Bob on the couch next together, and pretty soon Bob’s tongue was happily buried down his little brother’s throat, and then, by the second quarter, he had his cock buried down it too, Keith happily sucking his big brother off like he’d been doing it his whole life, and it a way, he had. Marty had been working on him too, little by little, getting him adjusted to his new, adult, needs. Smoking cigars, guzzling beer, growing out his hair and beard good and long and filthy. By halftime, his brother Bob was looking like a fine new addition to the family–a big, bulging beer gut, beard down to his belly button, hair down to the middle of his back, stringy and unwashed, his whole body coated with hair. But this wasn’t enough for Marty–hell now, Bobby had given him too much of a hassle for this to be all he got, no, he deserved so much more. Now that Bob was well on his way to becoming a proper member of the family, it was time to push him fully into his new role.

“He’s a good boy, isn’t he, Bob?” Marty asked. He was behind the couch, looking over them both, Keith still eagerly sucking on Bob’s cock, “Makes you proud, doesn’t it?”

“Best…fucking cocksucker I know,” Bob said, taking a deep drag off his cigar.

“Well of course he is, you taught him everything you know, didn’t you?”

“I…I did?”

“Of course–you taught both your boys so well. Best fucking teacher we could’ve had,” Marty said, and then leaned in close, focusing hard, watching the portrait hanging over them all, “We couldn’t have asked for a better dad than you, you know.”

“But I’m not–”

“And you couldn’t have asked for better, sexier boys. You did everything you could to make sure we grew up just like you. Fat, stinking slobs. Cocksucking, buttfucking faggots. Lazy good-for-nothing, trailer trash. Yeah, you couldn’t be more proud of your family.”

Bob was still trying to fight it, but Marty could see him losing. His long hair receding slowly, exposing the crown of his head and then shifting back even farther, until all that remained as a horseshoe of thin, ragged grey hair, his beard making a similar color shift, followed by the rest of his hair all over his body. His face grew lined with wrinkles, his fat gut no longer firm but sagging down. He heaved a smoky sigh and settled in, the portrait coming into better focus, his blurry form now centered, standing behind his two sons in the middle.

“It was a hard life, I know, working in the factory, but now you’ve hit seventy, and you’ve retired, got that hefty pension and social security, so you can just relax all day long, living with your boys, keeping us happy. You do like seeing your boys happy, right? It’s what you’ve always lived for.”

“Y-Yeah, I got the best fuckin’ boys in the world.”

“You sure do, you love us more than anything–you live for your family.”

“Sure do, son.”

“Why don’t you show Keith how much you love him? How happy you want him to be? You live to make your boys happy, to serve them.”

Keith stood up, and his dad licked his lips before leaning forward, hefting up his low hanging apron and digging through his stinking gunt for his puny cock to suck.

“Too bad you’re past your prime at this point, body breaking down, aches and pains. Had to pull out all those teeth of yours last year, get you a set of dentures. Can’t get hard anymore, but you leak cum like a faucet. Can’t hold your piss in anymore either, haven’t been able to for a while. Your hole’s been fucked so loose you shit yourself too, so you gotta wear those diapers from now on. Still, it turns you on, doesn’t it? Lounging around the house in your own, stinking filth? It just makes you leak even more, and you wear the same diaper for days at a time, until it sags off your body, and you have to wear another one.”

Was it too much? Bob was fighting it, hard, but the portraits hold on him was too great now, Marty could sense it. He’d do anything he wanted. A set of dentures appeared on the coffee table–he knew his boys preferred his gummy mouth more anyway. A thick diaper appeared around Bob’s waist, and immediately the room was filled with the stench of piss and shit from it, but neither Marty nor Keith cared–they’d lived with their father’s filth long enough to barely even notice it anymore. Marty came around the couch, slipped a hand between his younger brother’s ass cheeks and started probing his hole, making him groan and finally orgasm down his father’s throat–Bob drank all of his son’s spunk down, licked his lips, and started on his older boy, Marty. He didn’t last long, and he felt the magic seal itself as he came, his new father’s image cemented in the portrait with their own, and his brand new, filthy father sat back on the couch, his own filth squelching around him in his diaper, and grinned toothlessly at his boys, the best boys in the world, and he couldn’t have been more happy.

TO BE CONTINUED?

Family Portrait (Part 3)

When reality snapped back to order, the effects were seen far beyond the trailer park where Keith now lived with his older brother–his now ex-wife and sons were forced into new realities as well. The two older sons, David and Terrance, were living out on their own, working and renting an apartment together while they attended the local community college, trying to make the leap to a four year college when they could afford it, and both of them avoided their father like the plague. His youngest son, Bobby, split his time between his mother’s house and his father’s house, but only because he was still seventeen for a few more months. In all honesty, he hated every second he had to spend with his filthy uncle and father–he was ashamed to even be related to them. His mother understood, but there was nothing she could do, until he reached eighteen and could legally decide for himself. And so, Marty decided that the next easiest target would be Bobby, when he arrived to stay with his dad and uncle the next week.

That gave him plenty of time to get adjusted to life with his new stupid, lazy younger brother, and he loved every second of it. While he couldn’t make any massive changes to him, now that the picture had become static again, just like his wizard friend had said, he could continue making small changes and suggestions for another few days, all of which Keith was more than happy to obey, and by the end of the week, he reeked of cum and sweat, he hadn’t had a shower in months, and he spent all day and night drunk, passing out on the couch with the TV on every night, when he wasn’t busy in his brother’s bed, servicing his every sexual desire. Still, they both knew that as soon as Bobby arrived for his week of custody they would have to control themselves…for a little while. Marty didn’t think Bobby would be returning to his mother’s house anytime soon, that was for sure. All he’d have to do is get the young man relaxed and focused on the portrait, and everything would be perfect.

However, from the day Bobby arrived, it became clear it wasn’t going to be nearly as easy as Marty had thought. The boy had some…problems with authority, especially parental authority. He spent almost all of his time in his room, giving his uncle no real chances to exert much influence on him in any way. Marty thought he had him the second night, when he managed to successfully enchant Booby with the portrait, causing a third blurry figure to appear beside the images of his father and uncle, but when he tried to influence the boy, and turn him into a chubby, submissive cub for them both to use, nothing seemed to work–Bobby fought his suggestions, and after an hour, the image of him had faded from the picture entirely.

Angry and frustrated, Marty called his wizard friend, demanding to know what was wrong–the wizard was a bit flummoxed, but said that the reason for Bobby’s resistance probably had to do with his perceived relationship to his family–that is, he didn’t want to perceive himself as Keith’s son, but he didn’t have an easy solution for him. Marty’s mood stayed sour for a few days, until he overheard a fight between Bobby and his father one night. Bobby told him that Keith had never been his father, that Bobby was the only person in the room who could act like an adult–and that gave Marty an idea: if Marty thought he was the adult in the room…well, why not make him one?

The fight ended, Bobby stormed off to his room. Marty waited for half an hour, and then knocked on the door, letting himself in–the portrait had appeared on the wall of Bobby’s room, looming over him. “Bobby, I know you aren’t a fan of us, but you need to accept the fact that we’re you’re family, and there isn’t anything that can change that,” he said, and pointed at the picture, “Look at us up there, wasn’t that a good day?” Bobby looked at the swirling paint, his eyes drawn in immediately, a fleshy blob appearing in the picture, but Marty could see him fight, see him resist his placement between them, where a son belonged. So Marty tried something different, “But you’re a man now, you know? And you know, we don’t treat you like that enough. You aren’t a boy anymore, Bobby–no, not Bobby–Bob. You’ve grown into a fine young man, haven’t you?”

Bobby resisted for a moment more, but then visibly relaxed where he was sitting on the side of the bed. Marty could see his body changing, hair growing up his forearms, thick like theirs, his body bulking, as he grew older, into his mid 20’s. Finally, finally he had him, and Marty knew exactly what this young prick needed–if he wanted to be an adult, then fine, let him.

“You know Bob, I’ve always admired you. I’ve never seen you as a nephew, not really. I’ve always thought of you as a real brother to me. And I know Keith get’s on your nerves, but he’s, well, he’s younger than us, right? He’s always going to be a bit immature.”

Bob kept growing older, his face growing a bit more lined, hair receding back past the crown of his head, becoming flecked with gray, and he chuckled, “More like a fuckin’ baby–we should just put him in diapers, right?” he laughed harder, but something about the way he’d said it…it just made Marty angry. Still, Bob was under his thumb now, right where he needed to be.

“Look, come on back out, the game’s almost on. I know you wouldn’t want to miss a good football game over a stupid fight with your little brother.”

“Yeah…yeah, you’re right Marty–you always have a way of…of making so much sense, you know?”

“Yeah, I know, now come on, I have a feeling it’ll be a game to remember, big bro.”

Family Portrait (Part 2)

Another touchdown! Both Keith and Marty threw their arms up, shouting with excitement. Their team was doing great, and Keith couldn’t be happier if he’d tried, sitting here with his favorite person, his brother, watching the game with him. He grinned over at him, grabbed another handful of potato chips and shoved the whole wad into his mouth, chewing loudly with his mouth open, washing it all down with his seventh can of beer, a huge belch rumbling out of his fat belly. He gave it a pat, feeling it jiggle and wiggle around him. It felt…damn good, actually. Like Marty had told him, he’d always been a fat ass–he couldn’t stop eating if he fucking tried, he loved it so much–drinking too–and it showed, nearly six hundred pounds of flab, but he didn’t care. Like Marty said, he found it…kind of hot, actually.

He still wasn’t feeling quite like himself though. Ever since he’d sat down and started watching the game, he’d felt…almost like he was in a dream. Marty was there for him though, reminding him to get the snacks and beer, talking with him while they waited through replays, about all sorts of things. Like…like his lucky jersey. He’d worn in for years, ever since their team had won the superbowl, and he wore it for every game, religiously. He never washed it, so it stank to high hell, and was easily three sizes too small at this point, but it just didn’t feel right not wearing it, right? In fact, Marty had been doing most–or rather, all of the talking. Keith had focused on cheering during the game–with how hard it was to think, he didn’t feel capable of keeping up a conversation at the moment. Besides, it was more important for him to listen to Marty. Marty was the smart one, the clever one…but his eyes kept going to the clock next to their family portrait, and Marty noticed.

“Worried about the time, bro?” Marty asked him.

“Just…wondering when…Tara and the boys…” he said, but couldn’t complete the thought through the haze in his head.

Marty smacked his head and scowled at himself. Fuck, he’d forgotten–that would have made a mess of things for sure. “Why in the hell would that bitch be coming here? She hates your guts. The two of you haven’t laid eyes on each other since that last time she dragged you to court over missing your alimony payments. You’re lucky you didn’t lose partial custody over that shit.”

Keith looked at his brother, confused…but he…he was right. Tara hated him, and she kind of had good reason to. “Yeah…don’t know…why I’d thought…”

“Don’t worry about it bro, you hate women anyway. They fucking disgust you. The only people you want to spend time around is family. Especially me, your best friend. Your best big brother in the whole world. You love me more than anyone, right?”

Keith nodded and grinned at him, letting off another belch.

“Yeah, you’re just a fuckin’ deadbeat dad, really. Can’t hold down a job–doesn’t help that you dropped out of school, still, considering how stupid you are, that ain’t surprising. Luckily we could move in together–I support you, but that’s ok. There’s nothing you’d rather do, aside from lounging around the house, naked all the time, stuffing your face, drinking beer, watching TV, and loving me.”

This time, even Marty could feel it, the changes sweeping through them. The house around them began rotting–there was no way either of them could live in a neighborhood like that, after all. Still, served the fucker right, Marty thought. They ended up in a double wide trailer in some rundown park–still nicer than pretty much anywhere Marty had lived before, and it felt like home, his brother splayed out on the couch next to him, completely naked aside from his lucky jersey, eyes glued to the TV.

“Oh, and smoking cigars, of course. You couldn’t live without those.”

The air grew dank and smoky all of a sudden, and Keith sucked deep off his cheap cigar. Smiling, amazed at how well the portrait was working, Marty leaned forward and lit a cigar for himself, sighing smoke out, groping his cock through his filthy shorts, wondering how much further he could push this before getting down to business. Hell, why not now? He could remember how big Keith’s cock had been when they were teenagers, and it had only gotten bigger–but no fucking way did he deserve a tool like that, not after what he did.

“The smoking, the food, the beer–it makes you fucking horny too, right bro? So fucking horny all the time. Too bad you can’t find your inch long cock in all that flab of yours. Just makes you sex crazed all the time, leaking cum everywhere, desperate for release.” He watched Keith start panting, heaving smoke, sweating, crotch damp with precum, “Luckily you have a big brother to take care you, right? Help you out?” He reached over and dug around in keith’s new gunt, finding his miniscule cock, stroking it, watching his obese brother spasm with pleasure. “And luckily you’ll do anything your perverse big brother wants you to do, right? You love satisfying all of my sick, disgusting fantasies. At heart, you’re all bottom. A sex crazed pig, aching to have all of your holes stuffed at all hours. That’s the only way you can cum, with a big cock in your ass or buried in your throat, while you grunt and snort like a pig.”

Keith didn’t make it to halftime, before he tore into his brother’s shorts and started sucking on his cock. He ended up bent over the couch, his brother balls deep in his sloppy hole, dull mind desperate for sex, cock leaking like a faucet onto the already well stained couch. His eyes–he felt them pulled up, to the portrait on the wall. The background, it was swirling again, but his image–it was becoming clearer now–no longer blurry. His massive frame barely contained by his favorite jersey, wearing a pair of massive sweats. His shaven head and face looking even larger, three chins drooping under his thick handlebar mustache, a stupid grin on his face, leaning on his brother, his big brother, the best big brother in the world. With a snap, the portrait froze in place, and it was like all of him came alive again. With a holler, his tiny cock spurted a load into his fatty folds, and Marty shot deep in his filthy brother’s hole, and looked up at the photo. A good start, for sure–but there was still so much room in the portrait. Luckily, he had a few ideas for other people he could add to their family–starting with his new nephews. He knew that they would be so much happier away from their bitch mother for good and living with their dad and uncle, where they really belonged.

Family Portrait (Part 1)

It was…quiet. It was never quiet, not around here. Keith breathed a sigh in his empty house–as happy as he was at the family he’d made for himself, between Tara and his three sons, that also didn’t leave him very much time at all for himself. The place had been getting quitter, however. With his two oldest sons in their second and third years of college–at the state school a few hours away at least, and his youngest son, a senior in high school, out with Tara running errands on a fall Saturday for a few hours, he had the house to himself. He had it to himself, and he had absolutely no idea what he should be doing with his chance. It was funny, really. He so often wished for more private time, and now when the chance came, he had no clue how to spend it. He sighed–not really a bad problem to have, he supposed.

He was interrupted by a loud, heavy knocking on the front door. Curious who it might be, he walked to the door and opened it, finding a strange man on the porch he had never seen before in his life. He was none too clean, dressed in a pair of stained camo cargo shorts and a wifebeater, with a thick overgrown beard. He was carrying a large…something under his arm, wrapped in paper. Something rectangular and flat–but he had no idea what. “Hey! What’s up? I’m your new neighbor down the road there, just moved in a few days ago. Name’s Marty.”

“Oh, uh…hi. I’m Keith…Keith Ireland. Nice…to meet you,” he replied, not taking the man’s hand when he extended it out to shake. How someone who looked like this could possibly afford a house in a neighborhood where Keith lived…something seemed a bit odd about this, and he wasn’t about to let him inside his house. “Where…which house did you move into? I wasn’t aware anyone was moving.”

“Oh, just a few houses down.”

“I didn’t see any moving trucks or anything though.”

“Really?”

Keith just raised an eyebrow at him.

“Well look, I just wanted to say…hi. My wife, she’s an artist, and we always have too many things of hers, so we like to give our new neighbors some of her artwork. If you don’t like it, you don’t have to keep it or anything–her stuff isn’t for everyone, but it’s nice, right?” He held out the paper wrapped picture to him, and as strange as this was, Keith didn’t want to seem mean, especially if the guy really was his neighbor. He could always take a look, and then give it right back. He tore open the paper and flipped the picture so it was facing him. It was a sizable canvas, probably at least three feet wide, landscape, but there wasn’t much at all in the picture itself. In fact, it wasn’t even a painting–it was a photo. It looked like one of those cheap portraits you might get a Sears or something, but the only person in the picture was Marty, centered but small. Like it was supposed to be a family portrait but he was the only one who showed up. He looked closer, trying to figure out who could possibly see this as valuable, and discovered that the background of the photo…it was moving. The backdrop pattern…it was alive, twisting and ebbing back and forth–he couldn’t look away even if he’d wanted to. It felt like the pattern was growing in his field of vision, almost giving the illusion of falling into the photo, his mind emptying.

Marty watched his “neighbor’s” eyes grow dull and his jaw go slack, and he walked around him, stepping inside the threshold of the home, looking at the family portrait. The photo was indeed shifting and twisting, in one particular place–a figure coming clear standing beside Marty–quite blurry, and yet if you squinted you could see that it was Keith appearing in the image. The focus became a bit sharper, but never came fully clear, Marty taking a moment to inspect Keith, see how he’d changed all these years.

Keith obviously hadn’t recognized him, but they’d both been very different back in high school together. They even, at one time, been friends–with a few benefits. Keith was bi–and he’d let Marty suck his cock on a few occasions, but when they’d gotten caught, he pinned the whole thing on Marty–claiming he’d been “corrupting” him. Marty had no one after that–he’d gotten expelled from school, and kicked out by his family. But now, well, Marty had a little revenge planned for his old friend. He’d gotten by as best he could, but Marty had made a few new, strange friends along the way…including a warlock who specialized in revenge spells. He’d made the portrait Keith was currently staring at–and which was absorbing his image. It was Keith’s fault that he’d lost his entire family after all. As far as Marty was concerned, that meant Keith could provide him with a new one—a better one. One Marty was going to design just for himself.

It had been long enough now–the rest was up to him. He landed a heavy hand on Keith’s shoulder, making him start and jump, his mind snapping back to awareness, eyes blinking, trying to understand what had just happened to him. “What do you think bro?” Marty asked, “Ain’t that a good picture of us?”

Keith’s eyes moved from the portrait in his hands, and looked beside him, at his…his brother. His brother Marty. Something was still wrong with his mind–it felt like part of him was…missing. His eyes slowly tracked back to the picture, at the blurry image of himself in there. It looked like…like he was screaming in there. Marty pulled him back by the arm and shut the door, plucking the picture from Keith’s hands and pressing it to a nearby wall, where it adhered immediately. “Come on bro, the game’s almost on–I know you hate missing a game, right?”

Keith found himself nodding, even though he’d never in his life enjoyed watching football, and stumbled sleepily after his brother into the den, finding the portrait looming over him on a new wall in the den–it had moved somehow, haunting him–as Marty pushed him down onto the couch in front of the TV, grinning wide.

Joining the Family (Part 4)

All of us ended up waking up at about the same time, and went about trying to disentangle ourselves from one another. Unlike the night before, when everyone had been horny and out of their minds with lust, the morning was a much more sober affair–no one wanted to look anyone else in the eye, and Mikey couldn’t even glance at me, he just sat on the floor, head in his hands, mumbling something to himself. I wanted to tell him it was going to be alright, that we would get past it, but how could I tell him something like that? Decades of sobriety down the drain, just like that. I’d just fucked my own grandson–how in the hell could I ever get him to trust me again? How could I ever trust myself around him again? I didn’t know what to do, but I accepted a hand from the twin’s father, who helped me up, patted me on the shoulder, and he said “Welcome to the family, I’m sorry to say…” And then he walked into the bathroom, lighting a cigar along the way, and I heard him talking to himself cursing, and then he let off a thunderous belch, followed by a wet fart. “Hot damn, I’d been hoping that shit wasn’t gonna get any worse, fuck…”

The twins were next to each other, and I wasn’t sure whether it was the daylight, or just the fact that I’d never gotten a good look at them before, but the two of them seemed different than before. Bigger, more muscular, hairier. They didn’t look much like their father, now that I had light and time to notice. They lit cigarettes, and shared a few smoky kisses, but it wasn’t…lust. They just seemed to be searching for some small comfort with one another. All I knew was that I had to get out of there. The smoke was stifling, the air heavy. I went over and grabbed Mikey by the arm, and told him we needed to go home.

He told me he couldn’t. I asked why, and he said that he was home. Thinking back, what he actually said was, “We’re home,” but I didn’t notice, I wasn’t listening. All I could think of doing was regaining control. He kept insisting he stay, that he shouldn’t leave anymore, that he deserved this, that if he left it would just get worse. I hauled him up–he was heavier, and I was exhausted, but he didn’t fight me as I forced him back into his clothes, dragged him out of the trailer and into the sun. It felt so good, in the light, but it also…hurt somehow. We got in the truck, and he was sobbing at this point, muttering how sorry he was over and over. My hands were shaking; I needed a drink something fierce. I drove off, pulling into a gas station where I bought a bottle of liquor, and it was only when I got in my truck again that I realized how natural that had felt, how instinctual, and I resolved to pour the bottle out once we got home.

Mikey had gone quiet, but he was still crying. I told him everything was going to be ok, and he shouted back, “Everything is not ok! Don’t you know what happened last night? Why couldn’t you have just left me alone? Why the fuck did you have to show up? I…I didn’t want that, I can’t believe what I did…”

I tried to tell him it was me, but he stopped responding. I drove home, and the both of us went into my trailer. I went to pour the bottle out in the sink, only to discover a third of it was missing. I could…taste alcohol in my mouth, on my breath…and something else too. I looked down, and found a thick cigar smoldering between my fingers. Mikey was sitting in a chair, head in one hand, cigarette in the other. The bottle was at my lips again–I realized I had been drinking and smoking ever since I left the gas station, and I hadn’t even noticed it. I recoiled from the bottle, and left the cigar on the counter–Mikey saw my terror, and shook his head. He told me I couldn’t fight it. That it had me now, that there wasn’t anything any of us could do. He wasn’t crying anymore, but I could feel the weight dragging him down, dragging us both down, and at that moment…all I wanted was for him to be happy, was…was for him to feel good again, like before.

I hadn’t actually managed to put down either the cigar, or the bottle. I walked over, got down, and we kissed again, sharing smoke and booze until the bottle was empty. Over and over I told myself that this was wrong, that I shouldn’t be doing this, not with a man, not with my grandson. He started begging me to fuck him, telling me he was a slutty pig, that his hole was aching for a big cock like mine. I…I was so hard. The room was filled with smoke, it was like a dream. I slipped into him again, and I felt so alive, so heavy, so filthy, so…good. It was so good, being inside him again, I never wanted to be anywhere else. Words were pouring out of my mouth, words I never could have imagined saying in a million years, telling him what a naughty boy he was, how he was going to have to learn to keep grandpa happy from now on with both his holes, whenever I wanted it. I licked his sweaty body, he tasted so…so young and sweet. I filled him up over and over again, every shot just made me want to fuck more. It was evening before we finally managed to take a break for food. I wasn’t really hungry, but we needed to eat, I thought. While we snacked, I looked at myself in the mirror, at my sagging gut, my suddenly all white beard, my bloodshot eyes and red nose. I hadn’t looked like that before, but it also seemed…right.

The food tasted rotten, even though it wasn’t, and we didn’t eat much. The hunger was still there, the darkness clawing at my guts. Mikey told me we should go back, that we’d been away too long. He was pale and shivering, sweating. I knew he was right. We got back in the truck and drove back to Dale and Rick’s, with a quick stop for more booze and smokes. We got there, and Dale opened the door. He told us to make ourselves at home, and we haven’t left since.

Joining the Family (Part 3)

I realized too late that Rick and Dale had said something, that Mikey had gotten up off the mattress from between them, grabbed a liquor bottle and taken a swig, carrying it with him as he walked over. This wasn’t Mikey, though. I don’t quite know how I knew that, instinctively. Something in the sway of his hips, the way his face seemed to catch more shadow than the rest of the room. “Hey Gramps,” he said, “I was gonna wait until tomorrow, but the boys say no time like the present, right?”

I told him that he was going to get dressed, and get in the car. That we were going home, and we were going to have a long talk about what he’s doing, about not throwing his life away like this. He laughed, but something in his eyes didn’t match the mirth, like I’d noticed with Rick’s father. I was getting ready to grab him and haul him out, but he moved first, caught me off balance, shoved me back and I toppled onto my back. I tried to get up, but he landed on top of me will all his weight. He was heavier all of a sudden, even though he didn’t look different–like something else was pressing down on me through him, my arms pinned to my side by two strong thighs. He took another gulp from the bottle he had in his hand, holding it in his mouth. I yelled at him to let me up–he took advantage of my open mouth to lock lips with me and feed me the mouthful of liquor.

Now I hadn’t so much as tasted alcohol in decades at that point, and…and fuck, it wasn’t like I hadn’t thought about it. I sputtered that first mouthful out, but god, the desire was there, and I sure as hell wanted a drink, I can tell you that much. Mikey tisked me, told me not to be so wasteful, took another swig and locked lips with me again–this time with more force. I couldn’t wrench my head away, it was like something else had stuck us together, the booze sloshing between us until I…I swallowed it, and I just felt my entire body relax, the whiskey burning it’s way into my gut, so warm and familiar, and fuck I’d missed it so damn much. He took another drink and fed me that one too, and then I was happily drinking and kissing him, my own grandson. The booze raced to my head, it was numbing everything it touched. I lost track of time, of space, of myself. At some point, the twins came over and repositioned Mikey, giving them access to his ass while we kept kissing, their father masturbating over all of us, huffing and panting and grunting, the only other sound in the trailer was the occasional moan, and the static from that damn TV.

One of the twins got down below the other and started sucking my cock. I just tried to pretend it wasn’t happening. They took a moment to move Mikey up, lining his cock up with my mouth, and I resisted, refused to suck it until…until they coated it with liquor and fed it to me that way. My face was inches from my grandson’s hole, I could hear the twin’s cock squelching inside him, I could smell their sex, and it was…it was making me hornier. The weight was only getting heavier, but instead of it being focused within a body, it felt like it was pressing into me, joining with me, some strange, alien darkness.

I would only take breaks from sucking on my grandson’s cock, so I could drink from the bottle–anything, at this point, to dull what was happening. As soon as that bottle was empty, someone handed me another one. The twin came inside my grandson, I felt his cum dribbling back out of his hole and onto my chest, where someone’s hand rubbed it into my skin. Mikey was getting close, a voice was urging me on, telling me to suck harder, suggesting motions with my tongue, how to keep myself from gagging. I thought it was one of twins or their father, but thinking back it wasn’t any of their voices, and it felt like…like something resonating in my own head, some irresistible suggestion inside myself. Mikey came with a choked gasp, and I swallowed all of his sweet, young cum at the voice’s urging, my head spinning.

I…I don’t know how it happened. I…I want to say someone put him there, put us into position, made us do it. I want to say it was the voice, compelling me. But I…I think it was me. I was the one who pushing the twin away from my cock, slid up, and told my own grandson to sit on my cock, to feel his grandpa’s big cock deep inside him. He was loose and wet, well used already at that point, but…but that only made it hotter for some reason. I blacked out not long after that, but I do remember filling him up. I came, and at the same time, it felt like the darkness inside me solidified, turned to barbed wire and thorns, tearing its way into my soul, impossible to unwind and disentangle. I couldn’t stop the thoughts anymore, they felt like…like my own. They were my own. I demanded one of the twins sit on my cock, and he obliged, the other keeping me plied with liquor kisses. My grandson, meanwhile, worshiped the twin’s father’s filthy body, and sucked his cock. I…I kept drinking in the hope that I wouldn’t remember any of it, and honestly, nearly all of it is a blur, but it’s there, all the same, the certainty that it happened, even if I can’t access the particulars. It never seemed to end, but it did end at some point, because eventually I woke up on the filthy trailer floor, entangled with everyone else, and as much as I wanted to feel horrified by what I’d done, all I wanted was, first, another bottle of booze, and then second, to plow all their holes all over again.

I’d always hated him, Mr. Wallingford, my parent’s next door neighbor. A total fruit, and everyone knew it–but while that was disgusting, what made it worse was how much he wanted me. Ever since I was a teenager and had started coming into my own, I’d noticed how often he looked at me, whenever I was playing outside with my friends, he’d be watching me through the window. I tried telling my parents but they wouldn’t listen, and he never did touch me or say anything to me. He’d just…watch. Stare.

I was so happy, when I went off to college, that I could be away from him finally, but coming home for breaks and summers was horrible. I’d get home, and there he’d be again, still staring, still licking his lips, still…disgusting. I did my best to ignore him, and that worked fine until the summer between my Sophomore and Junior years, when I got home and something changed. Not right away. The first month was the same–he would still watch me, but now he had a strange glee in his eye that he hadn’t before. Every year the neighborhood throws a big block party for independence day, with a big potluck. Mr. Wallingford provided the cake that year, and everyone had a piece–it was delicious, but after that…

Suddenly, I was the one who couldn’t take my eyes off of him, and he made sure I had plenty of opportunities to see him. He would walk around the neighborhood naked, and no one would bat an eye or find it the least bit strange, but I was the only one who knew, and I couldn’t divert my eyes. Every waking moment I had to follow him, stare at him…lust for him. He was in my dreams, all of these sick, twisted fantasies I’d never had, they were all I could think about. At first that was it, but now, things are getting worse.

My…body. Something’s wrong with it. I’m putting on weight, I have these dreams were I’m massively fat, and I deserve it, I deserve to have my hot, muscular body ruined for ignoring him all these years, for…for never serving him how he needed to be. My…my dad raped me last night. He went in my room, threw off my covers and fucked my ass, loud enough for my mom to know, and I wanted it, and he watched it happen through the window, jacking off. Now, he’s out on his driveway, pissing, and as soon as he goes back inside…I’ll be out there, on my hands and knees licking it up off the concrete, because I need it, and everyone will watch me, everyone will see me. And then I’ll crawl to his door, and I’ll beg him to use me, because… because I need him. Because I’ve watched him forever, but I never knew how much I needed him until now. Because I’m his pig now, and that’s all I’ll ever be from now on.

Source: gbendana

Joining The Family (Part 2)

All my life, thinking of Mikey’s father and how I’d failed him when he was growing up, I’d always blamed my drinking, my absence. “If I’d been there, if I’d been sober,” I’d tell myself, “None of that would have happened. I would have been able to catch him before everything went wrong.” Well now here I was again, watching another young man in my charge slowly slip away from me, except this time I couldn’t blame my drinking. I wasn’t even sure I could blame myself, though there was plenty of that involved, I can tell you. I kept trying to figure out how to get Mikey to open back up to me, to help him find his way back to that sweet kid I’d been raising, but suddenly it was like I was living with someone else entirely.

There was the smoking. I couldn’t prove it, I would turn his room over while he was at school searching for cigarettes or ash, but I never found anything. Still, it was the drinking that made me even more furious. I’d worked so hard, freeing myself from liquor. I’d told him everything, I’d told him how the devil was in alcohol, how it had ruined my life, his father’s life, and then there he was, coming home with booze on his breath, eyes unfocused, that new sneering grin of his on his face, pushing past me and locking himself in his room until the morning, when he’d leave again, picked up by those two foul twins. “They were to blame,” I told myself now, it was their influence which was ruining him somehow, but I knew it was a lie. Things just fell to shit sometimes–I’d known that for as long as I lived. There was only so much I could do. So…I was there for him as best I could be that spring, but things only got worse.

He started packing on weight, going from thin to pudgy in a matter of months. He wasn’t taking care of himself, refused to brush his teeth or shower. He’d wear the same disgusting clothes for days at a time, usually just a pair of overalls with nothing else, not even overalls. Dale and Rick liked the look, he told me, wanting me to be furious. He refused to go to church, he burned my bible at one point after one of our common fights, when I’d slapped him for disrespecting me. It wasn’t too long after that I decided I’d been passive for long enough, that I had to do something, or Mikey would ruin his life before it even began.

I started following the twins around in my own truck, both with and without Mikey. I’d been getting calls from the school, telling me that Mikey’s attendance had slipped severely, and I found out that the twins almost never went to school. They’d pick Mikey up, and then drive a few miles down the road to the trailer park where they lived–one even more rundown than mine, and they’d spend all day there. They lived there with their father, a man who reminded me in all the worst ways of myself when I was younger. He’d leave once a day–long hair, scruffy beard, huge gut–and take the truck to a gas station down the road, stock up on way more beer and cigarettes than he needed himself, and then go back home. Obviously he was supplying his sons and Mikey–I confronted him at the station one day, but he just sneered at me with a smile missing more than a few teeth. “Gotta give my sons what they want, ya know? Best be stayin’ away if ya know what’s good fer ya,” he said. Well when Mikey stopped coming home at all, that’s when I’d had enough. He stayed out two nights, and then I got in my truck and drove off, planning on dragging him back home if I had to.

They were obviously home. I pounded on the door for close to ten minutes, and I could hear them inside, laughing at me. The door wasn’t exactly strong, and I might be sixty but I still had some strength left. I forced the door open and stormed into the trailer. The place was a complete sty–ashtrays and booze bottles everywhere, the stench of the place made me gag. There in an armchair was their father, staring at the TV screen, wearing nothing but a pair of whities stained yellow with who knew what. He had his cock out and was jacking off, tongue out, but a thick cigar stuffed in one corner spouting smoke, drooling at the screen. I came around but the screen wasn’t showing anything but static. I tried to get his attention, but he didn’t even seem to notice I was there at all, aside from a low, guttural chuckle. I could hear something in one of the bedrooms–I forced my way in again, and found the twin’s bedroom lit only by candles, and Mikey was between them, and they were all naked. I didn’t want to know what was happening there, in the dark. The light from the candles was burning bright, but it couldn’t quite manage to extend light to the entirety of the small room, leaving what was happening there to the imagination. It was almost like there were too many bodies on the bed, too many arms and legs. I suppressed a gag, and fumbled for the light, flipped it on and soaked the scene in fluorescent clarity.

There they were–Dale buried in my grandson’s ass, Rick in his mouth. I was nearly sick again. I’d never had tolerance for faggots, it was never something I’d ever been able to understand. I’d had my suspicions with Mikey, given his disinterest in girls, and I’d…been trying to think about what I might say to him, if it came to that. Trying to figure out if I could still love him or not. But this filth–it was too much. My head was reeling. The smoke was so thick in the trailer, it was hard to breathe, my head spinning. I didn’t feel good, and I tried to get out, but without me hearing him, Dale and Rick’s father got up and blocked my way, and whispered in my ear, “Told ya tah stay away. Who knows what might happen to ya now…” He laughed–the sound was filled with his own terror and desperation, and that hopeless sound filled me with more terror than anything he could have said to me, right then.