Tag: incest

Arctos Monthly (Part 5)

From that moment on, the two of them were inseparable. Andy was my roommate, sure, but he moved in with Mitch–after Mitch got done kicking his old frat bro out of the place to make room. While Mitch tried to go to class and practice, Andy spent the day fucking himself, smoking, drinking and eating, but as soon as Mitch got back to the room, they’d fuck all night long. I joined them regularly, but it was clear I was a third wheel, and when I got my third package in the mail–well, that changed everything, literally.

It came a few weeks after Mitch’s first, and it was moderately sized. I had no clue what might be in there, but I took it back to my room and opened it up, and when I did–I still don’t really remember what was in there. Nothing…physical, but as soon as I opened it, I started…seeing and feeling and knowing all of these things I knew I couldn’t, that all of this was impossible, and when I felt like my head was going to explode, I passed out–and woke up in my house. Yeah–my house, not what I was expecting either, not that I really knew what to expect from Arctos at that point.

But I had a house. I had a whole new life, actually. I made my way to a mirror and got a look at myself–now in my early fifties, a good amount of grey accenting my red. I’d done well for myself, working construction and owned my own company–I’d never been to college. It all felt perfectly natural, and totally unfamiliar at the same time, but needless to say, I was freaked out. I was still in the same town as before, so I hopped in my truck and headed for campus, where I discovered that both Andy and Mitch both remembered me, and that no one else did.

From that moment on, I drifted apart from Andy and Mitch, though I kept tabs on them well enough. Andy got his final package a week after me, and ended up in a rundown trailer park not too far from my house, living like a complete pig, eeking out a living as a long range trucker–which is about the only job he could manage with his piss-poor work ethic. Mitch quit going to school and moved in with his pig, and got his second package in due time–Andy made him hold off on using the cigar that arrived for him for four days, and Mitch smoked it with Andy in the room, of course. Mitch is massive now–shaved head, covered in tattoos, a real mean fucker, but the new Andy loves it–the abuse, the rough fucks, being his urinal, the fisting–all of it. Mitch doesn’t have a job–he doesn’t do well with authority–but they make some extra bucks renting out Andy’s hungry holes to a few local biker gangs, and Andy pimps himself out on his trips as well–though Mitch usually follows along in his hog, keeping tabs on his pig bitch. After Mitch’s third package, he aged up a bit, but not a whole lot changed–the two of them are certainly happy together still. I see them on occasion, but I don’t fuck Andy anymore, now that Mitch insists he charges me too–I don’t even get a fucking discount, can you believe that? Fucking ungrateful bastards.

But yeah, I was lonely, I admit it. I hooked up regularly, but most of the fucking bears around here are little bitches. It was Arctos who reminded me that I still had one referral left that I could use, and I’d made friends with an older fellow in my neighborhood named Orville–a widow in his early seventies, no kids. He…tolerated my sexuality, but didn’t understand it, but I figured, why not give him a chance to experience it himself?

He got the package a few days after I requested it, and twenty minutes later he was pounding on my door, dressed in some rather age inapporpriate attire–some denim cutoff booty shorts, a leather harness, and steel toed boots, a pipe shoved in his mouth, and my tongue shoved in beside it in short order. He was confused to say the least, and less than happy after I gave him the whole story, but, well, once he’d gotten a taste of my dick, he couldn’t quite get enough, and I was happy to have a steady fuck again. The pipe had put on some pounds, and fuck his ass was nice–soft and pillowy, but not too fat–just right.

He’d come around by the time the second package arrived, and he asked me to stick around while he smoked it. I was more than happy to do so, and when everything cleared–well, we were a bit closer than I was expecting. He’d picked up my red hair, though his was quite a bit whiter at his age, and a nice, thick accent that made my cock jump immediately. Yeah, he’d become my own father, and somehow that only made us hotter for each other. he loved lording it over me too–ordering me around, telling me how to take care of the company he’d given me when he’d retired, but in bed, he did what I told him–I made sure of that. The third and final package showed up and burst his bubble, however. When he woke up, he discovered he’d lost fifty years of his life, and now he was my young, chubby cubson, but I think it made him happy. Fifty more years, and someone sexy to spend it with? He thinks he’s pretty lucky, and I’m pretty lucky too, having a sexy son like that in my life.

To say that Arctos industries changed my life is an understatement–it was transformative, and it can be for you too! For just $149.99 you too can get a three month subscription to Arctos Monthly, and a gift subscription for a friend. I promise you won’t regret it–after all, as with all of Arctos’ products, your one hundred percent satisfaction is always guaranteed.

Christmas III: A Brand New Stanta Claus (Part 12)

The light cleared after a few moments, and a very different Matthew was sitting on Stanta’s knee. He’d traded debate and Christian Fellowship for football, fights in the school yard, and cigarettes and cigars whenever he could manage to get them. He’d gotten a bit too drunk when he was sixteen, and gotten that first tattoo and piercing–he…hadn’t really been able to stop getting them sense. Frustrated with school, he’d focused on autoshop and dropped out as soon as he’d found a mechanic that would hire him. He’d bought that Harley he’d always dreamed about, and he’d never looked back. And now? Now here he was–a six foot two, muscle bull with a thick gut hanging out of the ragged leather vest he was wearing, his skin a riot of tattoos, though still not as many as Stanta had, though Matt’s were of far inferior quality. His hands were calloused from work and scarred from drunken brawls in biker bars all over the state–he’d ever served a couple years in prison for assault, but he could always find some shop willing to hire him. He…he might not have always made the best choices, but they were the choices he’d wanted, and he’d never once regretted them, or looked back. he ran one hand through the long beard he’d been growing out for close to a decade and smiled over at Stanta, “Fuck, this…this feels good.”

“Ya look pretty good too,” Stanta said, leaned over and locked mouths with his son, tasting the stale smoke on his lips, their tongue studs clinking against one another, Stanta reaching over and freeing Matthew’s studded, tattooed cock from his grimy jeans. “Got a good head on your shoulders too–so you’re gonna have to take care of your stupid older brother. I don’t think either of you will mind, right? Matty, you love using Mark as a punching bag and fuck toy, right? And Mark, the chance of you fucking up is so much less if you let your brother make all the decisions, right? If you let him be your master? You want a master, you fucking pig? I think that’s the only way you’ll stay out of trouble.”

Mark hated it, but Stanta was right–without Matthew beating some sense into him on occasion, he’d only get in trouble. A leather collar wrapped its way around his neck, and a tattoo appeared on his wide ass, marking him as his brother’s property, just like…like he’d always wanted to be. He switched over and focused on his Master’s cock, sucking him expertly, just the way Matt liked it. If Mark did something wrong, he’d get a slap at best, or the shit beat out of him at worst. Stanta focused, and the two of them glowed bright once more, but this time they disappeared–whisked off to the run down trailer park where they lived now, content in their filth and sloth, and Stanta eyed his final, youngest son–John.

“Well come on boy, dawn’s coming quick, and I hate waiting.”

John thought about fighting it, but didn’t–he walked over and sat down on Stanta’s knee, and said what he’d knew would come out of his mouth, but which he was already dreading–something he’d…he’d been meaning to say for a long time. “I…All I really wanted, was for my father to love me.”

It was true–Stan had never loved John as much as his brothers. Where they had each grown up tall and strong and manly, John had lagged behind–short, a bit underdeveloped, a sissy, as Stan had seen it. Still, he knew, that as a father, he’d failed him, and he didn’t blame John for wanting more. Still…maybe, maybe Stanta could still fix things. He pulled John close to him, the young man feeling a pulse of lust flood into him. he tried to push him away, but Stanta’s tongue was shoved down his throat before he could fight it…and…and he didn’t want to fight it. He…He wanted it, someone to love him, to adore him.

Stanta laid him down on his belly and started eating out his son’s hole, listening to him moan, before he lined his massive cock up and started slipping it inside him. He screamed, but he couldn’t deny the satisfaction he felt, at how…full he was, even with just half of Stanta’s massive cock lodged inside of him. “You want my affection boy?” Stanta whispered in his ear, “You want me to love you? Then you’re going to have to become someone I can love. Someone who can satisfy me. Think you can do that? Is that what you really want?”

John didn’t know whether he was compelled to say yes or not, but it didn’t matter–he did want it, he did want this, as terrified as he was, and it came tumbling from his mouth over and over, in time with Stanta’s thrusts. Santa fucked his hole as best he could, and shot inside him–but as soon as he pulled out, he snapped his fingers and a strange rubber blob shot from his bag, and smacked John right in the chest, growing over him until he was completely mummified.

“Well boy? Daddy will be more than happy to give you what we both want. But no magic–well, maybe a little magic at times, but I have a long year ahead of me, and I’ll need a project to keep me occupied,” he said, shoved the squriming man into his bag, and shot back up onto the roof. The sun was cresting the horizon, but he’d finished his night–finally. It had felt like an age, long enough to die and become someone else entirely, but he could finally go home. Go home, and have a little chat with Timmy about how disappointed he was at his deception, and to settle upon a proper punishment.

To be continued…

Christmas III: A Brand New Stanta Claus (Part 11)

The three adult men all looked from one to another, not at all certain what was going on. The three of them had all woken up in their guest rooms and found themselves compelled to come to the living room, where they’d found all the lights on, the tree lit, and…a man, sitting in their dead dad’s recliner, who looked like some freak’s idea of Santa Claus. “Alright boys,” the man said, “Who wants to be the first to sit on Stanta’s lap?”

“Did…did he just say Stanta?” one of them whispered–James, the youngest. None of them stepped forward, or said anything at all.

“No volunteers? Well, how about we just go from oldest to youngest then. Mark–you first, get on over here and sit on Stanta’s knee, and tell him what you wanted most in your life, that you never got, Stanta wants to know.”

The oldest, in his early fifties, shuffled over, terrified that he had no control over his limbs, and gingerly sat down on the freak’s knee, trying his hardest to avoid touching the monstrous cock hanging below the man’s fat apron. “Please, I don’t–”

“Hush mark, no need to be afraid, just tell me what you wanted most, and be honest–Stanta knows when you’re lying,” Stanta smirked–lying wasn’t allowed anyway; no one on his knee could tell him anything but the truth.

The middle aged man stammered for a moment, and then said, “The…pressure. It was a lot, sometimes. My dad–I was the oldest, so I always had to set the example. I could never just relax, or fail, or do badly at anything.”

Stanta leaned in close, “Well I can take some of that pressure off–in fact, why don’t we make it easy, and make you a complete failure, eh Mark? You’ve never really succeeded at anything, have you?”

As his younger brother’s watched, their eldest brother, the man who’d always been the best at everything started to…change before their eyes, along with their memories of him. He’d flunked out of high school as a freshman, and never recovered. Never held down a job for more than a few months, never taken care of himself. A deadbeat, a slacker–he was fat now, greasy, stinking of the booze and cigarettes he was always drinking and smoking. He let off a belch, “Fuck, that was a big’un.”

“Feel better?”

“Fuck yeah, feel fuckin’ great…”

“Good, because I don’t think you’ll have to worry about succeeding at anything ever again, right Mark?”

“Fuck man, I don’ even try no more. Gonna be smokin’, drinkin’, eatin’ and jackin’ off til the day I die.” He was still changing, as he spoke–his hair and beard growing longer and longer–after all, he never bothered cutting it. His body expanded and began to stink, since he no longer showered, his teeth had already begun rotting from his mouth as well. “Thanks Stanta–this is all I ever wanted, ‘n I never even realized it.”

“If ya wanna thank me, then get down and put that faggot mouth to use, you worthless failure, you fucking disgust me.”

Some old, dying part of Mark knew those words should sting–but all they did was make him horny…and proud. He…liked being a failure after all, so why not relish it? He got down and started sucking at Stanta’s massive cock as best he could, but he wasn’t very well practiced–not many men wanted to use his disgusting mouth, not even at the rest area he cruised regularly.

“Alright, get over here Matthew, you’re next. Have a seat on my knee, and let’s hear what you want more than anything.”

His middle son, in his late forties, stumbled over. He’d always been a bit of a rebel, more so than his older brother, certainly, and he fought more against the strange compulsion dragging him over to where his now filthy, lazy brother was licking this freak’s huge cock, but as hard as he tried, he found himself settled on the man’s knee, trying not to let his legs touch the fat slob wedged below them. “Please, I don’t want anything–really! I’m happy.”

“Oh Matthew, I know you much better than that–you’ve never been happy. Now come on, tell me, what do you want? If you don’t tell me, then I’ll just have to guess…well, I won’t have to guess, I’ll just take a peek.” Matthew just kept his mouth glued shut, fighting his tongue back, refusing to say anything. So Stan smiled, stared deep into his son’s eyes, and Matthew…felt him inside his mind, rummaging about, looking in all the dark corners he’d tried to keep hidden from everyone for so long, all the secrets he’d kept out of fear and shame, all the fantasies he’d been saving for, at best, a mid life crisis.

“I always knew you were ugly on the inside, son, but I never quite understood how much,” Stanta said, finally.

“Wait…d-dad? Is that…”

Stan held a finger to his lips, quieting him. “Now now, that’s all in the past–we should leave it there. We should focus on you, and what you want, eh? So many things you’ve thought about doing, thought about buying, fantasized about for so long. Why don’t we just give you a bit more backbone, eh? A bit more…bravery, a little less shame. Imagine what you could have done for yourself, imagine who you might be if no one had ever held you back.

“No, please…I didn’t do any of those things for good reasons…I don’t want–”

Stanta’s finger flickered, and before he could finish Matthew was engulfed in a flash of light. “Son, everyone does things for reasons, but none of them are ever any good.”

Christmas III: A Brand New Stanta Claus (Part 7)

“Your father gave you so fucking much, and how did you fucking repay him? By being some fucking bum on his fucking couch? Well I think it’s time you learned how to show your father the fucking respect he deserves, boy,” Stan said.

Another red name–another horrid young man deserving Santa’s punishment. This one–Liam–was nothing but a lazy moocher. Dropped out of college after two years–he couldn’t handle the pressure. He moved into his father’s basement and has barely left since. Couldn’t even bother to get a job, just a chubby, stinking lout Stan had found snoring on the couch in front of the TV, even as his father worked two menial jobs to support them both. Well no more of that. “I don’t, I mean–” Liam tried to say, but with a twinkle of magic, his lips suddenly shut themselves.

“No, I think what we need is your father down here, to help you learn to appreciate everything he’s given you,” Stan said, and with a snap of his fingers, Liam could hear someone upstairs above them, and a few moments later, his father came marching down the stairs, naked, not at all sure what was going on, and why he couldn’t control his own body. “Jerry! I was just talking with your slacker of a son here about how he’s wasted his life and your generosity. I think, if anything, it’s time for you to take a load off, what do you think? Liam–get up–let your dad here rest his tired feet.”

The son stood up, and his father took a seat, both of them terrified of this massively obese Santa figure in their midst, and neither of them able to control their own bodies. Jerry plopped down on the old couch, and with a flash, both of them were twisted up in Stan’s magic. When the light died away, Jerry tried to get up, but discovered that…he couldn’t. No, not that he couldn’t that he didn’t want to. That he didn’t have to. This was his fucking house after all, he deserved a chance to fucking enjoy it! Liam, on the other hand, found himself overwhelmed by his father there, dropped to his knees and licking his father’s feet…just…just like he always did.

As Stan watched, Jerry’s body began to expand, filling in with fat, his hair growing long, lank and unwashed, mouth reeking as he leered down at his boy slathering his nasty feet with spit. “Yeah boy, work that fuckin’ tongue–show daddy how glad you are that he let’s ya live here with him.”

Still…not enough. He tried to resist the urge for a moment, looking at the father and son. Surely this was enough punishment, right? But he wanted to see them suffer anyway, and his mind, it wouldn’t stop imagining the most horrendous things…“Here Jerry, have a smoke–enjoy yourself,” Stan said, handing him a thick cigar he hadn’t noticed in his hand to him, which Jerry was more than happy to light up, while Stan got down in front of the very confused Liam. “I know it can be hard, supporting your father like this, but you do it for family, right? Holding down three jobs…not that you don’t enjoy them. Janitor at a local gym–gives you plenty of time to perv out in those nasty locker rooms right? Trashman in the mornings, but you like that too–picking up all that junk, hell, the nastier something stinks, the harder it gets you, right? Hell, just walking into those porta-potties you clean out on the weekends is enough for you to shoot a load into those filthy coveralls you never take off, right?” He stood back up and looked down at Liam, now a very different young man. He was wearing the nastiest coveralls Stan had ever seen, moaning loudly and rubbing his cock as he worshiped his father’s feet. He looked over at Jerry, and the cigar he’d given Jerry was doing it’s work–he’d packed on so many pounds all of a sudden that he probably wouldn’t be able to stand up even if Jerry wanted to. The father’s guts gave a rumble, and he farted–Liam immediately shoving his face between his dad’s massive thighs, snorting in the foul stench, cum splattering it’s way from his cock across the base of the couch.

“I know ya gotta get tah work soon boy, but Daddy’s got a big load of shit for you, and I know ya don’t wanna clean it up off the couch tonight. Well, I know ya like cleanin’ it off the couch, but I don’t feel like sittin’ in it all day, waitin’ fer ya tah git home.”

“Sure…sure thing Daddy…But…maybe ya can piss while I’m gone, ‘n I can suck that out? I’m always so thirsty when I get home,” Liam said, and pushed his dad’s legs up, giving him better access to his dad’s shithole. Stan didn’t want to watch…but he did anyway. He couldn’t tear his eyes away from the scene, and couldn’t tear his hand from his cock, eventually giving in, getting down behind Liam, ripping the back of his coveralls open a bit wider so he could slam his cock into the boy’s disgusting hole. He fucked him quickly, but after he came he couldn’t bear to be there any longer, and fled back up to the roof as quickly as he could, unable to believe what he’d just done to those two men. That…that he’d wanted to do that to them.

He’d been trying to avoid admitting it, but he was changing. This job, was changing him. This wasn’t the person he wanted to be, this wasn’t good, what he was doing, and yet…he didn’t want to stop. He didn’t want to stop, because in his heart, he enjoyed it. But this wasn’t God’s work, this wasn’t the work of any God. He…someone had to stop him. He couldn’t stop himself, but maybe…maybe he could get out of this somehow, stop anything like what he’d just done from happening again. He had to, this was out of control, and Stan knew that if he didn’t do something soon, he’d never be in control ever again. Because this…this felt too good. And that scared him more than anything else. He’d…he’d do it at the next stop, no matter what, before he lost his nerve, and before he got anymore lost in this…joy.

Dream Camp (Part 13)

Warning: Still gross and strange. Scat, anal vore, and other oddities of body and soul. This is the last chapter however! Maybe we’ll have someone more normal (and shorter) after this.

The final day of the camping trip was relatively uneventful, or perhaps it simply felt that way, because everything that had happened during the night was so insane it had rendered most everything else mundane by comparison. Christian came to his tent, and found his dad still cleaning up his morning mess–Barry was only too happy to take his son’s piss and shit right in his mouth, and then gave him a good solid fuck as well, though he found his increased mass made it substantially more difficult to give him as satisfying of a fuck as usual. Christian didn’t seem to mind–in fact, he didn’t seem the least bit fazed by any of it. Barry asked him a question about the Hoffsons, but the name no longer meant anything to Christian–apparently, it was like they had never existed at all. They finished their fuck–and Christian helped his massive father get dressed, since he couldn’t quite manage his uniform all on his own anymore, and then hauled him free of the tent, where Barry found the scouts all lined up and ready to help feed their Scoutmaster. One by one, the crouched over and Barry ate the shit straight from their holes, washing it down with their piss, and Barry had to admire them all. They had all become proper young bears overnight, covered with hair, some of them muscular, but most of them rather fat, thanks to Alex and Eric, who were busy feeding their newest pet, a man whose name Barry couldn’t even remember anymore, whose face had dissolved into nothing more than a single, massive sucking maw, with only vestigial arms and legs now, it’s entire body flabby, and yet taut–already filled to the brim with the father and sons’ milk.

Barry felt sated by the end, and the scouts all went off to prepare their own breakfasts. Barry thought he might as well cook his own, but suddenly the idea of normal food simply disgusted him…because he never ate food anymore. No, it only satisfied him once it was coming out the other end–the only things he’d be eating from now on were piss and shit–and cum of course, but that was beside the point. Still, there was…something he needed. He didn’t want food, but he was hungry as hell…and as much as he wanted to deny it, he knew what he needed. He needed to be fucked–and his hole needed to eat. Leaving his troop to their own meals, he set off wandering the campground, and he found for himself a group of college aged men enjoying the last bit of the weekend. Seeing this massively obese man lumbering towards them, covered with hair, beard crusted with shit, enter their campsite–all of them were disgusted–at least until Barry unleashed his first fart–then the three men were fighting each other for the privilege of fucking his massive hole first, but none of them needed to worry–he was famished enough to eat all three of them.

Later–now feeling considerably larger, his cock and balls swelling as the three young men dissolved in his bowels, he lumbered his way back to camp where the scouts were all eating their own meals, and he fed them all as well–his cum, the distilled manhood from the men he’d just devoured, watching his troop develop further, their hair growing longer, their musk stronger, their muscles and bones thickening and lengthening as they drank his cum, Barry feeling his balls shrink as they did, but he’d fill up again in no time. Still, it was time for them all to leave–after breakfast, the troop packed up their gear and bundled themselves into the cars–though there was substantially less room than before, with just Eric and Barry driving back–but there were also fewer scouts this time around as well.

Back at the parking lot, Barry returned his boys to their equally berish fathers, all of them so happy to see them–so happy that more than a few couldn’t resist the urge to fuck right there in the open, on the asphalt. Such a good troop he had–there was nothing Barry liked more than turning a boy into a real man–and his father into an even bigger, sexier man. And if they fought? Well, he ate the ones who resisted alive and fed them to their own sons, before auctioning off the boy to one of the other fathers in his troop. To this day, the only person who’d ever fucked him and lived was his son, Christian–and he planned on keeping it that way. The two of them headed home, finally–it had felt like that long weekend had lasted forever–but they were each already looking forward to their troop orgy Tuesday night, as well as next month’s camping trip. The entire troop had rented out a lodge in the mountains for a whole week–which meant Barry had to get busy if he was going to store up enough cum to feed everyone for an entire week. Still, Christian would keep him well supplied–he usually brought two or three men home for him every night. By next month, his balls would be so big, he’d be barely able to walk.

But before he fell asleep that night, and before he forgot, Barry took off the amulet and hung it away in the closet. He had a feeling he wouldn’t be wearing it again for a while–his dreams were so crazy now, he figured he’d better give the amulet a rest for a while–but at least he had it in case he ever needed it, or maybe he’d pass it on to one of his boys one day, and help them make their dreams come true too.

The End

Dream Camp (Part 11)

***Warning*** Here’s where things start getting really strange. You might just want to stop here if watersports, scat, anal vore, or snuff freak you out–which just to clarify, they probably should freak you out. Still, these are horror stories! You’ve been warned!!!

“Silly, silly little boy. Playing at being a grownup this whole time, but I remember you, oh fuck, do I remember you now,” Kyle said, as he stalked closer to him, “Weak, fat, terrified. My son was right to beat you up, you little shit!”

Spittle flew, smacking Barry in the face. He kept trying to move, trying to run, but his feet were glued to the ground, stuck in the mud, and he felt…shorter. Smaller and weaker than before, this monster bearing down on him, and there was nothing he could do. Nothing–he was…was weak. He was just…just a pig, just a boy, not a man at all…

His body was changing, and he was aware that it was his own loss of confidence causing it, but there was no stopping it, nothing he could do, because Kyle was right. ScoutMaster Hoffson was right, had been right about everything. He could feel his muscles diminishing as his fat spread all around him in every direction, rooting him into the ground even more, sinking into the mud which had begun bubbling around him. It…it would feel so…so good, to just stop. To stop fighting, to just…embrace this. He was too heavy to do anything, too heavy to fight anymore. His legs began to wobble, and finally collapsed beneath him, mud splattering out and up, sinking into his folds, cold against his balls and cock, and he could feel them shrivelling up, growing smaller and smaller, tucking themselves away into his fat where he’d never be able to reach them, where no one would be able to reach them, where they should just stay. He didn’t need them, he didn’t even want them.

Master Hoffson walked over, pushed him backwards into the mud and climbed on him, pinning him in the muck, his huge cock pushing itself into his soft gut, “Not even a pig–fuck no, just a hog. Worthless as a fucking man, no fucking balls at all–all you’re good for is eating and abusing, isn’t that right? That’s what you want, isn’t it? To eat? To drink? To serve? To be abused?”

Barry knew, in his head, that everything he was saying was a lie, that he didn’t–that he shouldn’t–want these things, but feeling his balls shrivel further and finally disappear, feeling his snout start drooling, he was…starving. Every hole of his was starving. Master stood up again, leaving him in the muck, walked around to his head and squatted down over Barry’s now porcine face, his hairy ass right over him, and Barry knew, what he needed. Knew what would satisfy his hunger, and he began licking at his Master’s pucker, feeling it loosen, and the shit start pouring over him, and he swallowed down as much of it as he could, the filth choking out any shame that remained in him, the desire for filth overwhelming him, dominating every last chunk of his small mind, feeling his own bladder release, piss cascading from his gunt and out over his fat thighs, shit spilling out into the mud beneath him, warm muck between his cheeks. Master Hoffson finished his load and allowed his pig to lick his crack clean, and then washed off his face with a blast of musky piss, marking him now, demonstrating to them both that this was not just any hog–but his hog. His toilet. His cumdump. And Barry no longer could conceive of wanting to be anything else.

He looked up and saw his Master had changed–no longer simply a beast, he had reclaimed his some of his humanity, even as Barry had lost his own. His cock was still slimy and inhuman, but his face had lost its snout, now merely angular and hyper-masculine, with a grin full of sharp, pointed teeth, a body coated with hair, bulging with muscle without a single trace of fat anywhere. To Barry, he was simply a god, everything he wasn’t. Everything he could never be. The only life he could imagine was one serving this god, of providing the only services he could now–as a hole. As a dump.

“Max, get the fuck up–you’re fine. No son of mine is going to let a pig control him, right?” Barry could barely lift up his head to see Max, where he’d been lying on the ground, hole wrecked, begin forcing himself up at his father’s command. “No, you’re a real man, a true beast, like me. Show this pig what he deserves–I want to see you destroy him.”

The feral anger in the bully’s eyes no longer filled Barry with fear–only with a crude desire. He wanted this beast to abuse and wreck him, wanted it more than anything. Max forced him to roll over, his body expanding with bulk, his mind filling with cruelty as his father filled him up, and he hammered his cock into Barry’s disgusting hole, and Barry squealed with pleasure, his cock forever soft, but his new ass now incredibly loose and sensitive to even the smallest probing, his fatty folds shaking and shivering with pleasure, but Max didn’t last long–after a minute and a half, he finally spasmed and exploded deep inside the pig’s filthy bowels, and tried to pull out, but Barry wasn’t satisfied. Barry wanted…more, and with a sudden motion, he clamped down his ass on Max’s cock, locking him in, even as Max, in a bit of a panic, started yanking at it, clawing at the pig’s ass, but Barry wasn’t done yet–Barry needed…more. He needed everything Max could give him, and he was going to take it, whether he wanted to give it to him or not.

Dream Camp (Part 10)

Kyle was in a space–outdoors, but nondescript–a thick collar around his neck with spikes, attached to a heavy chain, attached to a post rooted in the floor. Barry was standing a few yards off, watching him struggle and fight against it, trying to get loose, but there was nowhere for him to go now, nowhere he could go to escape this anymore. But still, he was stubbornly resisting, his will bouncing off of him, but he’d anticipated this–and he had an idea for how to finally get Kyle to accept his dream.

Max appeared, looking around, confused, like he’d been somewhere else entirely a moment prior. He had the same collar on as his father, but was unchained, and seeing his father panicking and terrified, he knew what he needed. He flinched away from his son when he tried to come closer, and Max began chasing him around the post, until Barry began shortening the chain, giving Kyle less and less room to avoid him, until Max finally pinned him in place, and swallowed his cock into his hot throat. The initial pleasure overwhelmed him, Barry feeding his libido, encouraging him, convincing him to enjoy his son’s beastly throat. He came to his senses after a few moments and pushed his son away, but it was too late–he was weakening. His…cock. It wasn’t human anymore. It had gone into Max’s mouth human, and what emerged was…pink, inhuman, and slimy, with a sheath. Stunned, he allowed Max an opening to keep sucking, and the pleasure now was impossible for him to deny, and his instincts began to overwhelm him, making him grab hold of his son’s head and ramming his new cock down his throat, Barry watching as the rest of his body began changing as well.

His nails lengthened into claws, giving him a better hold on his son as he skull fucked, him, the rest of the changes radiating from his groin. Fur spread across his body, even as what little fat melted off him, his muscles bulging with power. Barry could see Kyle there still, in his eyes, both trying to understand what was happening to him and still trying to fight it, but as the fur grew over his whole body, it was obvious that he was growing weaker. Finally, his head and skull began to reshape, his snout pushing out, and there was nothing he could do to fight it any longer–or contain the anger he had always kept barely contained within his body. He threw his son off his now thirteen inch cock and mounted his ass, grunting, snorting and slobbering, licking his emerging tusks with his now long, prehensile tongue, hungry for pain, hungry to fuck, hungry to dominate. Barry saw what was happening, saw he was growing larger than he’d anticipated and tried to push him back, but his will was rebuffed–Kyle’s muscles swelling even larger, his bones and frame growing to support him, until he was at least seven feet tall, Max limp and whimpering beneath him like a ragdoll, simply trying to survive being pummelled by his beastly father’s now foot and a half long cock. He came with a thunderous roar, cum spewing with such force that it spurted out of Max’s now wrecked hole, forming a puddle around his body, his father removing his cock from him. Barry wondered if he was still alive–he didn’t seem to be moving.

Kyle, at least, turned to him. The collar was now comically tight around his neck, and with one hand, he reached up, grasped the leather, and ripped it apart, letting it fall behind him as he stalked towards Barry, eyes full of fury, his massive cock jutting out in front of him. He was taller than Barry was now, and Barry felt…something he hadn’t felt in days now–he felt fear. That same fear he’d always had, before all of this, the fear of this man, of Max, of what this brute might do to him, and too late, he felt the amulet feed off his fear, and Kyle grew larger and bulkier, looming over him now. Should he run? Should he fight? He was strong, sure, but was he that strong? He didn’t know, he didn’t know anymore.

He was losing control, just like he’d lost control the night before, in the tent with Christian, allowing his friend desires to warp him. He tried to hold on to himself, tried to focus on the power, on shrinking him down, on making him weaker, anything at all, but he couldn’t–he couldn’t do it because…because.

“Because you’re weak, pig.”

It was Kyle who’d said it, his voice impossibly deep, almost entirely a growl, but he understood it all the same.

“Because you’ve always been weak–but I should thank you,” he said, “I…I hadn’t realized, how strong I could be, but don’t worry piggy, we’re gonna have some fun. We have all night, right? In our dreams?” He took a step closer, and Barry tried to back up, but it was like his feet had been sucked into the earth, and all he could feel was terror, as the beast he’d created stalked toward him, licking it’s chops and stroking it’s gargantuan cock.

Dream Camp (Part 9)

“No…No! This can’t be real, this can’t be fucking real…” Kyle muttered, unable to believe how hard his own cock was, unable to believe that he…a part of him, a growing, part of him, wanted this.

“Oh, but it is real, and it’s everything I’ve ever dreamed of,” Barry growled in his ear, with one hand, he grabbed the back of Kyle’s pants, took hold of them, and ripped them apart, revealing his lightly haired ass, and with one grimy finger he started probing inside him, licking the side of Kyle’s neck, feeling him shiver at the invasion, and push back slightly. “That’s good, real good,” Barry said, “You know, I was a bit worried about you, you know, that you might not want to join in here, but maybe you just needed a bit more work than everyone else. Still, I think we’re gonna be spending the night together, but I’m not quite tired yet–why don’t we find a way to keep you occupied until then?”

Barry looked over his shoulder, and saw the knots the fatter scouts who’d stayed back at camp had been working on, and chuckled, “Who wants to earn their ropework merit badge? Mr. Hoffson…would like to be restrained–you scouts think you can work on that for a little while?”

The chubby scouts were more than happy to do anything their ScoutMaster wanted. They grabbed the rope and hurried over, collectively pinning down the still struggling Hoffson and working on binding him tight. Barry supervised, giving advice and encouragement to his loyal scouts, and when they were finished, after an hour, Kyle Hoffson wouldn’t be going anywhere, his arms and legs behind his back in a hogtie, his balls bound up and strung up to his ankles, his muscular body crisscrossed by rope, his mouth gagged. Barry picked him up by his bound hands and feet, like a basket, listening to him groan as he tugged on his bound balls, and carried him over to the middle of camp, where any number of scouts had given into their burgeoning desires, fucking and sucking and licking out in the open, no longer able to resist each other. The scouts who had remained behind seemed to have taken on their own qualities, all of them weighing at least five hundred pounds, after sucking down as much of Alex’s milk as they could drink. Some of the musky, hairy scouts immediately gravitated to them, fondling their fatty rolls, pushing them down and mounting them, others preferring to worship their fat bodies, the chubby young men shivering with pleasure.

Barry set Kyle down on his side, hearing him sigh when the tension on his balls is lessened, and then he called Max over from where the strange mutt was busy servicing Christian by one of the firepits. Max came bounding over, eager for anything his Master might desire–and Barry pointed him to his father. “Max, why don’t you entertain your dad here for a while? Suck his cock, finger his hole, lick him clean–but don’t fuck him. I do, however, want that ass of his nice and loose by nightfall, so make sure you at least work your fist in, got it?”

Max nodded eagerly, and Kyle tried to struggle away, calling to Max, telling him to stop, to not do this, that he was his father for Christ’s sake, but Max was too far gone now to even consider obeying him, his simple, near feral mind focused on his master’s and their commands. He slobbered all over his paw like hand and started rubbing it against his father’s backdoor, gently massaging it, Kyle trying to pull away, but unable to do so without yanking his nuts and making himself nauseous, and before too long one finger was inside, and Max rewarded him by sucking his cock. Kyle sobbed, unable to believe that he was somehow hard, but the stench of musk in the air was beginning to affect him, make it harder for him to think. He fought against feeding his own son that first load, begging him to stop when he felt his balls constrict, but Max wanted it, wanted to taste his dad’s cum, wanted to see if it was as delicious as he’d always imagined it might be. He fought less during his son’s second suck, and by the third, with his boy’s feral fist buried in his hole, drilling his prostate, he had begun to beg for it, plead for it, encourage his filthy animal of a son to suck him harder.

He realized that, at some point, it had become night. The young men in their patrols had eventually grown hungry and were busy cooking their dinners, though some of the fatter young men had decided they would rather feast at the tit for the evening, and were jockeying for position in front of a quivering, milk soaked, Alex. Eric was still focused on his newest addition to the harem, molding his strange form to better serve as his one of his whores, and Barry had finally found a moment to pull his son aside and mount him next to the fire, slowly and gently, enjoying their mutual musk in the night chill. It wasn’t too much longer after that, when the campers, exhausted from a busy day, began to go off in groups to their tents for one final romp before sleep, and Barry knew it was time. “Son, I think you’re gonna have to sleep without your daddy tonight–I got some other business to attend to.”

Christian objected loudly, but Barry stood firm, consoling him with the fact that Max would sleep with him, keeping him happy all night long, but Barry, well, Barry needed some time with Kyle. His son wasn’t happy about the arrangement but he knew better than to disobey his father–so he led Max off to his tent, and Barry again picked Kyle up off the ground and carried him over to his tent, set him inside, and started untying him, but left his hands bound in front of him, his ankles bound as well, and then pulled him close, sliding Kyle onto his cock, feeling the older man sob even as he enjoyed the wonderful fullness, the hot rod buried inside him, the musk of the ScoutMaster shrouding him, making it hard to think. Barry was fighting the heat of the amulet, trying to stay awake and relish the moment, but he finally succumbed to sleep as he worked his cock in to the hilt, started snoring, and immediately began to dream.

Dream Camp (Part 8)

They returned to the rest of the hiking group, pushing through the trees, the scout now sporting a full beard, a small gut, and a longer cock he couldn’t seem to keep his hands away from. Barry watched something pass through all of them, almost like a wave of some strange energy, the scouts all turning more…manly, all of them except Kyle Hoffson, who remained stubbornly unchanged…even when he saw his son Max, come lumbering out of the woods behind them, shorter, no longer wearing a uniform other than his neckerchief, soaked with sweat and cum, his paws glued to his thick, bestial cock.

“M-Max?” he said, mostly to himself, “What…I…”

Kyle couldn’t take his eyes away from the strange, disturbing beast. That…that couldn’t be his son. He would never…never, have a son like…like that, right? Max grinned up at him, baring his strange teeth in that inhuman snout, and then walked over and hefted a heavy pack onto his muscular back, and Kyle…Kyle felt something inside him, something he’d never felt before, grow tighter. It had been getting tighter all weekend, ever since he’d seen that obese monstrosity of a man in the parking lot dropping off his son, this strange sense that his hold on reality, it was becoming strained. He was trying to hold it together, trying to keep in mind what was real and what wasn’t, but increasingly he’d felt like he was living in some twisted, perverse dreamscape. First, Eric and Alex Mendel with their, freakish leaking chests. Then the disgusting perversity of Barry Brooke and his overgrown boy, and now…now his son? His own son? He couldn’t look like that! If…if Max looked like that, and if Max was his son, then…then what would that make him?

It grew tighter, he didn’t feel like he belonged in this place anymore. He looked around at the scouts, his scouts, and realized he barely recognized any of them, anymore. All of them were suddenly hulking, hairy young men, stinking with musk, all of them obviously corrupted by that filth Barry Brooke put out from his disgusting body. The disgusting fucker, he revelled in it, in his…his power and authority. Look at him, his cock hanging out openly, all of the scouts staring at it, smelling it, smelling him and each other. He had to get out of here, he needed to get out of here, and with a sudden terror, he grabbed his pack and started off back on the trail, leaving the rest of them behind. He had to get back to camp, he had to escape, before whatever this insanity was overwhelmed him.

The rest of the scouts watched him leave, and then looked to Barry. He could…sense it now, Kyle’s hold on reality beginning to fray slightly. He wasn’t sure whether it was simply stubbornness or just a lack of imagination that made him so resistant, but now he knew he wouldn’t be able to resist his dream forever. “Well boys? What do you think? Should we get back to camp for the evening?”

His young men all nodded, and Barry led the way, Max behind him, carrying his scoutmaster’s pack along with his own, happy to serve as beast of burden, like always. The boys followed behind, enjoying the musky scent of their ScoutMaster leading the way, their bodies developing as they did, bodies growing hairy, beards filling in and growing long, their own bodies becoming sweatier, their cocks and balls growing, leaking in their uniforms. More than once, on the way back, one of them would begin to have doubts, begin to fear what was happening to them, and they would try to hang back, to get away, but Christian, following up at the end, was waiting for them. They would, spend a bit of quality time together, their faces buried in Christian’s reeking pits, our slurping at his engorged cock, until they no longer questioned what was happening, until the desired it, and then the two of them would double time and catch up to the main group.

Up at the front, Barry kept the pace quick, not necessarily because he wanted to make it back to camp quickly–if anything, he would have preferred a few more breaks, so he could see how his scouts were all developing behind him, wallowing in his cloud of perverse musk, but no–he was keeping his eyes ahead, to where he could see Kyle trudging along as quickly as he could, desperate to put as much space between himself and Barry as he could. Barry could smell him on the wind: his sweat, but also his terror and confusion. He saw him ditch his pack to the side of the trail, look over his shoulder at the band of scouts behind him, led by their massive, obese ScoutMaster, his eyes wide with the terror of prey, and he started running proper, with about two miles left before they reached camp. Barry let him pull away from them, keeping the pace steady. Kyle was strong, but he wasn’t that strong, to keep up a run like that for much longer than a mile. Still, Barry wanted him exhausted. Barry wanted him stinking, and scared, and too weak to fight him. Let him run, he thought, he can’t run from what’s been coming to him for years and years.

Kyle reached camp, and found himself staring at something just as disturbing, his fellow leader latched to Alex Mendel’s tit, now the fattest man he’d ever seen, his arms and legs beginning to wither and atrophy, all of their muscle now concentrating themselves in his neck and chest, his eyes becoming swallowed in fat, his ears growing smaller as he became more and more cut off from the world, now just a body made to suck and swallow. The man, hearing him coming, pulled away from Alex and looked over at him, his mouth toothless, just two swollen lips, a thick, grotesque tongue licking them clean of milk, before Alex guided his face back to sucking, which the man would be doing for the rest of his life. Alex smiled at Kyle, and beckoned him closer, squeezing out of his tits, spurting out a bit of his sweet milk, and Kyle…Kyle felt himself stretch to the brink. With a primal scream, he ran to his SUV and started clawing at the door, needing to get away from this nightmare, when a bod slammed up against him, pinning him to the side, a voice in his ear growling, “No Kyle, I don’t think you get to leave yet–what would the troop do without their favorite pig?”

Dream Camp (Part 7)

Is he dreaming now? The thought occurs to him too late to do him any good. One moment, he was certain he was awake, lounging with his son, the next, he is no longer certain of anything, the sky oversaturated with color, Max crawling towards them both across the ground. He seems scared, but his terror is no longer enough to keep him away from what he wants. He circles around them, keeping his distance, snorting and huffing, but Barry knows that if they just remain still, he’ll approach eventually. Each time Max reappears in his field of vision, something…changes. His nose flattens. His bottom incisors have grown out past his lips. His muscles have bulged out, especially his shoulders, collapsing the length of his neck. His hands aren’t hands, his feet aren’t feet. He’s making this…noise, a desperate whine, snout twitching with need, a dark red, almost purple tongue hanging from his mouth, glistening with spittle in the harsh light. His clothes have disappeared, revealing a body coated with hair including much of his face by a thick, but short, beard.

His circling has become tighter now, and he finally stops at Barry’s side, sniffing him, his cock hardening, nose snuffling at his pit. Barry lifts his arm, and his own musk–it’s so much stronger suddenly, so strong even he can barely contain the lust that pulses through him when he smells himself, Max digging in, licking and slobbering, Christian, in his lap, groaning, rubbing his cock, his dad pulling him closer, into his stench. He can sense it spreading to him, encompassing them both like some strange cloud. Max is now licking his body mindlessly, but Barry and Christian are focused on their combined stench, their unwashed bodies, their greasy hair and tangled beards–

“Ummm…Mr…Mr. Brooke?”

The sun felt so good, so warm.

“Dad? We should get going–we still have five miles.”

Barry stretched on the ground, still against the tree. Max, whatever he was now, something between…well, he didn’t really know, really, but he was happily licking his grungy hiking boot, one strange paw like hand groping at his hard, strange looking, cock. He looked up and saw Christian standing already, pulling on his grimy, sweaty uniform. It was another scout who had come to find them, a guy in another patrol named John, eyes still wide at the scene he’d stumbled upon, but by the time Barry had stood up, everything seemed so…normal, suddenly. Barry pulled up his pants, soaked in his musky sweat, and buttoned them, but left his huge cock flopping out the front where it could air out a bit. “Thanks, must’ve fallen asleep there,” he said, walking past John, placing a hand on his shoulder, his stench making the young man tense up and spasm, as he spontaneously shot his load into his underwear. Barry chuckled. Fuck, he loved his boys. He leaned in and gave him a forceful kiss, one hand shoving its way into the young man’s pants, coating itself in cum before pulling out, feeling John moan into his mouth, hungry for his spit. Barry drew away and licked the cum from his fingers, and the scout leaned in, rubbing his face against his scoutmaster’s hairy chest.

Barry looked over, and saw Max was busy cleaning off his son’s cock, and now he could actually get a better look at what, exactly, he was. He was indeed something between a man, a pig and a dog, if he had to try and pin it down. He had a pig’s snout, definitely, with two short tusks pushing out on either side. His tongue was…very long, he saw, as he watched it lick Christian’s cock–it could stretch from head to root with no trouble at all. The rest of Max’s body, however, was a bit…harder to describe. He was coated with fur–not like a person, more like the pelt of an animal. His hands were closer to paws, but his feet were more like trotters, or hooves, and a short, bushy tail stuck out above his hairy ass. His body was substantially more muscular, but in a rather beastly fashion, and the muscle was covered with a thick layer of fat as well, giving him a firm and brawny physique. As he licked, he was busy rubbing his own cock, which was bright pink and…and definitely not human, with it’s odd slimy texture and narrow, pointed head. It was big, too–at least ten inches, which looked larger on him, because Max had shrunk considerably, down to about five feet tall, though his new posture didn’t help, hunched over like that.

The scout licking and chewing at his chest hair was getting him all riled up again, and he pushed him back gently, knowing that if he got started all over again, none of them would get back to camp before nightfall. But when he saw the young man’s face, he gave a bit of a start–his previously smooth face was now coated with dark stubble. Had he…done that? He couldn’t know for certain, but it looked good on him. Every boy looked better as a man, after all, and if he could, he’d make men out of all of them, he thought with a chuckle.

“Come on, ya’ll, let’s get back and get moving,” Barry said, “We’ve rested long enough, I think.”

Together, the four of them walked back to the troop. Barry led the way with Christian, the scout rubbing his stubbly face and wondering what had just happened to him, and Max following behind them, snorting and grunting happily, still stroking his cock with one paw, licking the palm clean of its slime on occasion, his old life now well and forever behind him.