(Caption) Notes on Reality #1

October Caption Challenge (24/31)

Mitch had never really felt that life had dealt him the hand that he deserved, much less the hand that he wanted. Gay, but at least able to pass, growing up in a small town as the only kid of a fairly deadbeat, and rather traditional father, who tended to keep him at arms length. Mitch hadn’t done well enough in school to get into college–there was the small issue of the cheating on his permanent record. That had nixed most of his college hopes, so he found himself living with his dad, stuck in a dead end job, and with no real opportunities for relationships aside from the occasional hookup with a trucker passing through, while his dad was passed out on the couch.

However, it was one of those truckers who took a bit of pity on him, and passed him an odd little notebook. It was blank, and the cover of it said, “Notes on Reality.”

“This little thing gave me the life I’d always wanted,” the old, cigar smoking fellow said, as he got back behind the wheel of his semi, adjusting his sizable endowment as he did. “Give it a try yourself–I think it might be just what you’re looking for.”

Mitch had no idea what he was talking about, but he took the notebook home, tossed it on h8is dresser, and promptly forgot about it for the evening–but the book didn’t forget about him. The next day, he found it tucked in his glove box at work. Then, he found it on his bedside table when he was going to bed. It clearly wanted him to do something, but what? He opened up the blank notebook, and there on the inside cover, was something scribbled that he hadn’t noticed before. Write what you wanted, and reality would bend to your whim. It sounded impossible, but then, the book kept appearing right where it couldn’t possibly be. What harm could there be in giving it a shot.

So he wrote a little something, talking about how he had cleaned his room up earlier that day, despite having done no such thing, and all around, him, from one moment to the next, the room was…immaculate. Even odder, he could remember doing it himself! It was almost like nothing had changed–it fact, even reading back to himself what he’d just written, it was difficult to remember exactly how things had been. Suddenly, his hand didn’t seem so terrible after all.

He went out into the living room, where his dad was sitting in his underwear, smoking a cigar, and wondered just how much he could influence things.

He wasn’t sure that he wanted to change himself, exactly…but why not make his stern, overbearing, distant dad a little more…relatable?

He went into the kitchen and wrote:

“I came out to my dad around a year ago, and he was very supportive and kind. He wants me to be happy, and has absolutely no problem with me being gay.”

As he finished the thought, he felt reality twist around him–and sure enough, he could remember sitting his dad down and having the talk, and he’d been…fine with it. Better than fine, really. If anything, their relationship was better and more open than ever.

He laid awake that night, pondering and scheming and wondering. He could stop now, of course. He didn’t…need to keep using the notebook. But…why not keep using it? He hated living here, he hated so much about his life, and he could change it, all of it. So he started writing in the middle of the night, as much as he could. About living and growing up in the city, about going to college–but his thoughts turned to his father again, and what came out was…not quite what he had planned, initially.

His dad was unhappy, he knew that. At first, he just wanted to make him happy too. He wrote about his dad going to gym, he wrote about how he had a good job that he liked. And then, he wrote about how his dad was gay too. Then, he started writing more about him, about how he wasn’t the sharpest tool in the shed, but that he made up for it with his kindness and his strength of character. He wrote about how he had a substantial cock, but was a total bottom in bed. He wrote about how his dad was attracted to him. He wrote about how his dad had begged Mitch to fuck him, how he loved getting plowed by his son’s cock more than anything. Finally, he couldn’t write anymore, after filling pages and pages with his fantasies, and the resulting wave, as reality shifted, was too much, and he passed out in his bed.

When he woke up, it wasn’t in his dad’s small house–it was in the apartment they shared, while Mitch was going to college in the city. He had been woken up by a massive, white haired, burly fellow with a substantial cock sucking him off, a man he knew was his father, but did not quite recognize as such quite yet, and then the older man climbed on and fucked himself on Mitch’s cock while he watched, moaning and panting like a fucking slut, until they both came–Mitch inside his father’s ass, and his father all over Mitch’s chest and face.

“Fuck boy, I needed that,” he said. The voice was familiar, but lacked the drawl, and was instead a bit higher, a little freer. “I’m gonna hit the gym–you coming?”

Of course he was. Mitch always went to the gym with his dad before class. More than once he caught his dad flexing and winking at him on the gym floor, and before he could stop himself, they were fucking again in the sauna–like usual, right?

His dad was a fucking slut after all, he needed a cock in his ass all the damn time. Preferably Mitch’s, but he’d take almost any young buck in a pinch. After a long day of school, Mitch found himself back at home, and much to his unease and muted delight, the notebook was waiting for him as well. He tucked it away in a drawer, and it seemed to stay put, for the most part. After all, he had everything he wanted, right? At least, for now.

(Caption) Halloween Nightmares V

October Caption Challenge (23/31)

What a treat for a dream imp! Two young men, asleep in the back seat of their father’s car during a long road trip. Pulling two men into the realm of nightmares at once was difficult, which is why the imp rarely did so, but the stronger the connection between the two, the easier it would be to bring them together.

Kyle and Steve were brothers, sure, but they were also rivals, and had been their entire life. Encouraged by their father, both of them were challenged to one-up each other in whatever athletic contest he might decide. As such, the brothers were both well built, athletically accomplished young men, who, on a certain level, despised one another.

And so, they began to dream. Kyle found himself in a dungeon, full of all manner of painful devices. Steve was in the center, chained up and unable to move. Before Kyle could move to help him, a voice told him to stop. He turned, and saw his father in the corner of the room–no, not his father, not quite his father, the face kept…sliding away from him, the eyes were red, the teeth too sharp.

“Come now, Kyle,” his not-father said, “Don’t you want to show me what a good boy you are? Don’t you want to punish your brother? Show me what you can do?”

Kyle…didn’t, not at first, but then, there was a flogger in his hand, and he started bringing it down on his brother’s back, and fuck, it felt good, thinking about all the times he hadn’t measured up. He was the oldest brother, he should be the one to be the best, but then why did he lose? As he pounded on his brother’s flesh, he didn’t notice that Steve was beginning to change, his muscle growing thicker, his body hair and beard filling in, his cries of pain now punctuated with the occasional moan of delight.

Then, a whistle, and before Kyle even knew what was happening, he was there in the middle of the room, in chains, and his brother–his larger, hairier, brutish brother, was leering at him, cock leaking, his not-father’s red eyes gleaming in the shadows. “Now now, you boys take turns, alright?”

Steve set on him with the floggers, with the paddles, with the clamps, with slaps and fists. At first, all Kyle could feel was the pain, all of it excruciating. But then, buds of pleasure, then full blossoms, as his body grew, piling on muscle, piling on scar, piling on hair. When it was time to switch once more, he could see that Steve had grown just as hungry for it as he had–and he would be sure to give his brother as much pleasure as he possibly could.

And on the road, his sons quiet for so long, the father looked back and discovered the back seat vacant–yet he hadn’t stopped, and there was nowhere for his son’s to have gone. He was blamed, of course–there was no other explanation, but if his boys ever did make it back to the mortal plane, they never crossed paths with him, that he knew of.

(Caption) Family Blackmail

October Caption Challenge (21/30)

Coming from a rich family has plenty of perks. The trust fund is a big one. I mean, my father expects me to hold down a job, something to show I have some sort of incentive to improve myself. I do have papers verifying a kind of employment as a consultant with a variety of companies downtown, mostly thanks to the many friends I’ve made at the gay clubs since I moved to the city here, away from my father’s estate where he retired. So yes, I work. By which I mean, I fuck my way through piles of drugs, men, and all manner of depravity on a daily basis, because that is how I wish to spend my time and my father’s money. I’m an only child–what other choice does he have?

Well, imagine my surprise when I get an email from him, along with a photo attached:

Yes, that’s me. I counted myself lucky, I suppose. There were many others, far more filthy that he could have found, which would have resulted in something more immediate than the ultimatum he gave me. I was to return home. I would marry a young woman, approved by him, immediately. I would work at his business for the rest of my life, or all of my privileges would be revoked.

Now, I couldn’t have any of that spoiling my fun, of course. Thankfully, quite a few of my contacts in the city had rather…unsavory connections in the world, and I was promised, for something as weightless as my soul, that they could help me with my little problem. I was more than happy to pay up of course, I was hardly convinced that souls existed in the first place, after all. There was a marketplace, I was told, where they could be bought and sold. The things we’ve learned to commoditize.

The results were quick. I received, two days later, a series of photos, some of them tastefully anonymous, like the one below.

Others far more revealing, and filthy. I had no idea my father could be capable of such filth, to be honest. I was proud of the little hypocrite.

So, I sent them along, telling him that this revelation would be far more damaging to him than the little activities I entertained myself with. Unless he wanted them seeing the light of day, he ought to just keep the trust fund flowing.

My father was horrified. He had no idea when these photos had been taken, no memory of any of this occurring. It didn’t really matter to me whether his denials were true, or whether someone had drugged him, hypnotized him, brutalized him into disgracing himself for a camera. I had my money, and that was all that mattered to me–at least, until I was told that my soul had been sold.

Apparently, souls are very much real, and being in possession of one allows a remarkable level of control. I’m owned by my Master now, and reside in his dungeon as his full time gimp.

The trust fund is his. He also, apparently, was the one who manipulated my father, and so he pays me visits on occasion as well–it’s the only time my hood is removed, when I get to watch my old father being beaten in the dungeon by my Master, fucked and pissed on and fed the ash from his cigars. I don’t know if he knows its happening to him. I do. Then he is gone, and the hood returns. But I can’t object. My soul is his now. I love him. I could never disparage him. I will serve him for the rest of my life, or until he sells me off again. I hope he doesn’t. I don’t think I could stand to lose him.

(Caption) Uncle’s Property

October Caption Challenge (20/31)

Joe and Harry didn’t like the work they had to do at their uncle’s place. The old farm was falling apart, and it seemed like every time they went over, they were just managing to patch the place up for another month or two. But they didn’t complain, too much, because their uncle was always happy to keep them supplied with plenty of beer, not only after they were done working, but any other time they needed it. It certainly kept them popular with their friends, since they were all a couple of years shy of 21 still.

“Alright boys, let’s call it a day I think,” their uncle Barry said, shirt off, smoking one of his cigarettes, and a bit burnt from a day in the sun.

“Sure thing Unc,” Joe said.

“You boys fancy a beer?” Barry asked.

They both nodded, and followed him back to the garage at his house. Barry pulled a couple of beers out of the fridge there and handed them to his nephews. They were a different brand than what their uncle usually gave them, but they weren’t going to complain. Both of them chugged the first one back while Barry popped one of his own, and watched his two nephews with a grin.

Joe let off a belch, and looked a bit nauseous. “Fuck Unc, where’d you get this? Tastes like piss.”

“Yeah, well, mine tasted like a damn ashtray,” Harry said, feeling a bit dizzy himself.

Barry just chuckled, and both Joe and Harry looked to one another, feeling faint, and that was the last thing they remembered clearly. The next thing Joe knew, he was in Barry’s dirty bathroom on his knees, next to the toilet. He tried to stand up, but he couldn’t get his legs to unbend. He tried to call for help, but he couldn’t make a sound at all. After a few minutes, Barry came in, stood in front of him, and hauled out his cock, proceeding to piss all over him–mostly in his mouth, but also down the front of him as well.

“Fuck, ya make a handsome urinal boy,” Barry said, shaking his cock and zipping back up. “I’m sure you’re worrying a bit, but don’t worry, I’ll keep you from getting too thirsty.”

“You…you can’t do this,” Joe managed to croak out.

“What, you think ya can stop me? Far as anyone’s concerned, yer just my property now. Just an object. All ya need now is piss, and pretty soon, that brain of yers will shut down, and you’ll forget ya were ever human at all.”

With that, Barry went back out to the sofa and plopped back down. Harry was on his knees next to the couch, face already covered in ash from Barry’s earlier cigarettes. He was trying to fight it, but he was already starting to get…hungry for more ash, eyeing Barry lighting up another cigarette hungrily, licking his ashy lips. Back in the bathroom, Joe found his throat feeling a bit parched now…but he tried to deny it. At least, for now. But the next weekend when their dad visited, and didn’t even recognize them at all, that’s when they knew–they weren’t human anymore, not really. And now that the spell had worked, Barry had a few ideas for some more property he’d need soon enough.

(Caption) Rest Stop Encounter

October Caption Challenge (18/31)

He couldn’t have been gone longer that five minutes, and his son was nowhere to be seen. Nick and his son were on a little camping trip while he was home for the summer. Nick had gone to the rest area bathroom to take a shit, and when he’d come back to the car, where his son had said he’d wait, he was nowhere to be seen. Figuring he’d just gone to the bathroom himself, or maybe was walking around to stretch his legs, he walked back to the bathroom, but didn’t see him. With a little more panic mounting, he kept looking around, and saw a young man, about his son’s size, following another fellow back around the front of a pickup truck. Wondering what his son could be doing over there, he followed them, came around the front, only to discover that the young man was blowing the fellow right there in the open.

He had to focus and really concentrate…but it was his son, almost. He hadn’t had a shaved head, nor tattoos, nor had he been wearing those clothes, but it was his son, he was sure of it. “What the hell are you doing with my son!” he said, went to grab him away, but the redneck swatted his hand away.

“Buddy, I think yer confused,” he said, “This ain’t your son–I’m his daddy, ain’t that right boy?”

The young man looked up with a rather love struck expression and nodded, “Yeah Daddy, ‘course, I’m yer son!”

The drawl shouldn’t have been there, but it was his son’s voice! Nick was sure of it. “I don’t know what fucking game your playing, but let him go.”

“Buddy, I think yer confused is all,” the redneck said, lowered his sunglasses, and the eyes beneath them…Nick had never seen anything like them. The color kept…shifting, and the gaze was so intense, he forgot…everything, for a moment. Forgot his son, forgot about calling the cops, forgot about camping, forgot himself, even.

“Now, like I said, this here is my son–isn’t that right, buddy? Ya don’t have a son, do ya.”

Nick shook his head slowly. He…he must have been mistaken. He didn’t look anything like his boy–no, he didn’t even have a son, did he? “S-Sorry man, I…I guess I was just confused, I’ll…I’ll leave ya to it…”

“Now hold on, don’t go just yet. Ya like tah watch, don’t ya?”

Nick nodded slowly. He was right, he did like to watch. He groped his own cock while the fellow’s son deepthroated his daddy’s big cock. “Fuck man, yer fucking lucky that your son sucks cock like that,” Nick said.

“Yeah, he does real good, gotta say,” the man said. “Got a pretty good cock on himself too, loves fuckin’ fat truckers like you, and looks like that ass of yours could use it. Wha’d’ya say, 200 bucks, and my boy’s all yours for an hour.”

Nick’s clothes shifted to some ratty, dingy denim, and he licked his lips. He hadn’t had a nice young cock in him in ages–and hell, he sure as hell needed one. “Ya got yerself a deal fella,” he said, hauled out his wallet, and shoved 200 dollars in his hand. “Come on boy, let’s see if ya can fuck as good as yer Pa there.”

An hour later, the young man climbed out of the cab, grinning from ear to ear, and went back to where his Pa was waiting, climbed in the truck, and took off with him. Nick climbed down after him, feeling the cum drooling from his ass and down the inside of his jeans, and shuddered a bit. The boy sure could fuck! Too bad he didn’t get any contact info from them–these rest area hookups wouldn’t compete. He needed to be on his way anyway–this load wasn’t going to deliver itself! He climbed back in, still envious of the man’s son, and drove off into his new life.

(Caption) Dale’s Divorce

October Caption Challenge (15/31)

The divorce had been rough. Sure, he’d made mistakes, but now he was losing the house, he could only see his son on the weekends, and he was going to have to pay her alimony? It had just been a fucking prostitute–ok, a few prostitutes, usually while he was out of town on business. If she’d just put out more, none of this would have happened.

Dale wound up in a two bedroom apartment not too far from work, but it was hard not to resent the whole mess. Frustrated, he ended up befriending one of his neighbor’s Max, and the two of them would stay up drinking, talking about their respective problems. Or at least, Dale would talk, and Max would listen.

One evening, Max interrupted Dale’s usual diatribe to suggest something. “You know, I have this little app on my phone, maybe it can help you out a bit, move past this a little.”

“Oh?” Dale asked.

Max pulled out his phone, loaded it up, and the flashlight in it began to strobe. “Yeah, it’s just a little trance program. Puts you in a relaxed state. All you have to do is look at the light. Might help you settle a bit, sleep better. I could help you push some of this stuff out of your head for a bit, get past it.”

Max looked up, and saw that Dale was already staring at the flashing light, mouth open and drooling a bit.

He smiled. “Yeah, that’s perfect. Don’t you worry buddy, I know just the thing to help you get over that bitch ex-wife.”

And so, Dale found himself developing a new relationship, this time, with Max’s feet. It was just a few suggestions at first, and Max went barefoot for a while, watching Max’s eyes track his footsteps all over their apartments. Soon enough, he got him drunk, and Max was more than happy to worship his feet, love them, kiss them, and each sniff helped him forget his ex-wife a little more.

Once Max was certain the new footpig was well under his control, he told him that he wanted to make a deal. After all, Dale shouldn’t just get to worship these wonderful feet for free–no, there was something else that Max wanted. He wanted his son. Dale had introduced them, of course, and Max was just a few months shy of turning eighteen, which meant he’d be able to visit his dad all he wanted. Except Dale was going to help Max out, wasn’t he?

So the next weekend, they pinned his son down, tied him up, and after a few hours, he was already sniffing the inside of Max’s sneakers, moaning and groaning like the little foot slave he was going to become, just like his dad.

Since Max was going to be busy, and Dale wouldn’t be able to service him as much, Max had a surprise for him–he’d started renting him out as a footwhore online, and he already had his first client scheduled today.

Sure enough, a motorcycle pulled up, and an old, grungy looking chubby biker got off, and headed for where Dale and Max were standing in front of their apartments. “Hey Dale, this the pig?” he asked.

“Yep–you’ll show Willis here a good time, won’t you Dale?”

Dale gulped–but once the biker got his boots off and he got a whiff of his road funk, Max’s reservations melted away. Soon enough, his son didn’t even visit his dad, he just went right to Max’s apartment. Not too long after that, Dale and his son forgot that they were even related. He was Max’s dirty little footpig, his obedient, sexy son, and Dale was just the nasty, perverted footwhore who lived next door.

(Caption) Another Flubbed Spell

October Caption Challenge (6/31)

Derek never found out for certain why, exactly, his father and uncle had fallen out. It had happened when he was ten or so, around the time his uncle had divorced Derek’s aunt. His mother thought it was ridiculous, but whatever the reason, it was embarrassing enough that his father refused to talk about it. Derek had always liked his uncle, and despite the fact that he knew it upset his dad, he still went over to work on his Uncle’s farm during the summer, and the two had gotten rather close. He was close to twenty now, and had even asked his uncle about it, but he’d been as tight lipped as his dad was about it. So, when Derek had found the ancient book of spells in the library, he’d decided that a decent test would be if the book could help resolve the difficulties between his dad and uncle.

The language was difficult, and Derek had only barely graduated high school, but he found a spell that might do the trick. Something about helping people understand each other better, bringing their fates into realignment. He didn’t quite know what it meant, exactly, but he cast it one night–and when he woke up, he and his mom discovered that his father was nowhere to be found. When Derek suggested he might be at his Uncle’s place, she shook her head–and finally told the truth. Derek’s uncle had come out as gay, and divorced his wife. Derek’s dad had never been able to forgive him for it, both for the divorce, and for lying to him for all of those years. Derek, however, was certain that his spell had done something. He got in his truck and drove out to his uncle’s farm, where sure enough, he found his dad’s truck parked as well.

He used his key to get into the farmhouse, and promptly dropped his keys on the ground, when he saw the two men in front of him.

They were his dad and his uncle…mostly. But something was wrong–their clothes, their facial hair, the fact that the air reeked of sex and both of them were kissing heavily. “What the fuck are you doing?” Derek said.

But when his uncle looked at him, Derek felt something take hold–the spell, it turned out, was still hungry.

“Don’t be upset nephew, just relax,” his uncle said, beckoned him over, and Derek found his feet shuffling forward. “Take off those clothes of yours, no need to be so nervous and buttoned up–you understand, don’t you? Just like your Daddy does?”

Derek moaned, stripping off his clothes, and before he could really process it, he was on his knees between them, worshiping one cock and then another, feeling the leather gear wrap its way around him, the collar last, locking around his neck, signalling to everyone that he was enslaved to the passions of his father and his uncle.

That evening, he tried to disentangle himself from the sex, caught a look at himself, and was horrified at the hairy, butch fuckpig looking back at him, cum drooling down the inside of his thighs as he stood there. But he needed to get to the book, didn’t he? Figure out how to fix this? But they weren’t on his uncle’s farm anymore–the small town hadn’t taken well to their incestuous triangle, but the city had suited them all just fine anyway. The book ended up back in a library eventually, awaiting the next victim to approach.

(Caption) A Flubbed Spell

October Caption Challenge 2/30

“Oh fuck daddy, please, your boy’s hole is so hungry for your big cock, please fuck me Daddy…”

This wasn’t right, this wasn’t how this was supposed to be happening. Jeremy flipped his way through the spell book again, trying not to think about his growing gut, the hair that was coating his face and body, the winking asshole of his boy, fuck he wanted to pound that ass so bad, but if he did, then they really would be fucked for good.

Jeremy had always had a thing for his dad. When he’d found the old tome of spells at the library, he thought he might be able to cobble together something that might make his dad a little more willing to have sex with him. Thinking he’d worked it out, he’d cast it earlier, and it had definitely worked, but not in the way he’d intended. His dad was looking younger and younger. In fact, as Jeremy stared at him, his beard was shrinking up into his face, his body slimming down, the hair pulling back in as he grew younger and younger. Jeremy on the other hand, was getting older and older, the hair on his body picking up silver. He let out a groan of frustration, ran a hand over his head and it came away with a clump. He didn’t know how to make it work! And if he didn’t figure it out, and he fucked his boy, then the spell would seal–he’d never be able to undo it, no matter what!

“Damn it Daddy, I’m tired of waiting. Put down the stupid book and fuck me!” his boy said, ripped the tome out of his hand, and climbed into his lap, naked, legs wrapped around his waist, groping Jeremy’s fattening chest, rubbing his now hairless crack against the head of Jeremy’s fat daddy cock through the shorts barely containing his new bulk.

“God damn it boy! I’m not gonna fuck you!” Jeremy said, and pushed him off, voice deeper and more commanding.

His boy was relentless, however, shoved his face into Jeremy’s crotch and started licking at the head, Jeremy moaning, leaking precum from his heavy balls. He grabbed the boy’s head in his hands and smothered him under his belly with a growl, trying hard to remember that he couldn’t fuck him he couldn’t, but a blowjob couldn’t hurt, right?

But no matter how hard his boy sucked on him, he couldn’t cum, and the horniness was driving him insane. Finally, unable to resist any longer, he threw his boy to the floor, climbed on him, and drove his cock into his hole. It was…amazing, better than he’d expected it to be in a million years, and in less than a minute, he came–and he felt the spell snap into place, their roles now forever reversed.

Still, there were worse things, right? He had a handsome boy willing to do anything to please him. The spell had left him wealthy enough that neither of them needed to work. All Jeremy had to do all day was drink his whiskey, smoke his cigars, and fuck his son’s hole whenever either of them got horny. After a few days, neither of them could recall a time things had been different. The book went back to the library, ready for someone else to find it, and try to work it’s magic in their favor.

Arctos: Second Life Thrift (Part 2)

Tim had heard of empty nest syndrome, that parents could have a rough time when their kids go off to college, but after spending half of winter break with his dad, he couldn’t stomach anymore of this ‘new leaf’ as Brian called it. The house was filthy, all his dad wore anymore was filthy biker gear, he stuffed himself silly, drank from the time he woke up to the time he passed out, and he’d be gone for these long stretches–sometimes overnight, and he’d come back reeking of sex. Tim tried to sit him down and talk about the changes he’d seen, but his dad didn’t want to hear it. Instead…well, Tim had gotten the sense that his father was wanting him to drop out and move back home–and that, well, his father wanted to have sex with him. That was made quite clear on the last night he’d stayed there, when his drunken father had burst into his room in the night, buck ass naked, backed up to the bed and asked his son to fuck him. Tim had left that morning, and planned on not coming back–ever if he could help it–or at least until his father sorted his shit out.

Thankfully, he’d moved off campus into a little house he rented with a few friends instead of the dorms, which were still closed, so at least he had somewhere to go. He hadn’t been there for a few days, before he got a package in the mail from some company called Arctos, paid for by his father, from something called Second Life Thrift. He opened it up, mostly out of morbid curiosity, and found that there were a bunch of clothes inside, all of it absolutely filthy–just as nasty as his dad’s new clothes were, if not worse. He sealed the box back up, intending to throw them out, but instead, the box ended up pushed into the back of the closet, where Tim forgot about it rather quickly, as the next semester got rolling. He got the occasional call from his dad those first few weeks he was back at school, but he ignored them, listening to the occasional voicemail, which wanted to know if he was enjoying the gift he’d sent, wanting to know why he wouldn’t talk to him, wanting to know why he didn’t want to fuck him. It was disgusting. Finally, he blocked the number, and started making arrangements to stay at school for the summer–because one thing was certain, there was no way he was going to be living with his dad ever again.

Back home, Brian couldn’t figure out where he’d gone wrong. He had been certain that once his son got a good look at his new persona, he’d jump at the chance to ditch school and be a biker slut like him, but Tim hadn’t seemed the least bit interested. That night when he’d tried to force himself on Tim in his room had been a gamble, and one that hadn’t paid off at all. He’d gone back to the Arctos site, scrolling through some of the lots, wondering what he could send to his son that might give him a little bit of a boost, make him more amenable to the life his dad was offering him, when he’d stumbled on a familiar face–or at least, a face that was familiar to the ghost that had merged with him.

It was Jerry–a trucker that the ghost had been with, off and on, for close to thirty years. Occasionally, their lives would bring them close for a while, and the ghost had always loved getting fucked by Jerry’s massive ten inch cock, even if the trucker hadn’t had much in the way of Brian’s. He spent his time, when he wasn’t driving, focused on his weight lifting, and even when he was nearing sixty years old, he’d been a massive muscle beast, covered with hair–fuck, Brian could almost smell him now, even after all of this time. So why not send his son a gift, and give his old fuck buddy a new chance at life? It was too good an opportunity to be true.

So Brian waited, figuring his son wouldn’t be able to resist the allure of the clothes for too long. After all, it had only taken him a few days to fall almost entirely under the sway of his own ghost, back when he’d gotten his first box. He called his son, but got no answer–over and over again. Why wasn’t he picking up? Surely something must have happened by now, right? In the end, he took an extended trip on his hog to the college, and snooped around, only to discover that his son was…well, completely normal! Nothing about him seemed to have changed at all. How in the world could that even be possible? He snuck around the house for a bit, and eventually spotted the ghost of his old friend, hanging out in Tim’s room, looking a bit lost. He motioned Jerry outside, though it took him a little while to convince him that he could, in fact, see him, and asked Jerry what was going on–why wasn’t he trying to get Terry to wear his clothes?

Jerry told him that he’d been trying, but nothing seemed to work–he just couldn’t get inside the kids head. It had taken all of his energy just to keep him from throwing everything out, and sending Jerry to the dump with the rest of the garbage. It didn’t help that, even as a ghost, Jerry wasn’t the most clever of apparitions. Once brute force had failed, he’d mostly just settled into the room, vaguely haunting the place, waiting for something to happen, growing hornier and hornier, since he couldn’t seem to get any release as a spectre.

Apparently, Brian realized, his son was going to be a harder nut to crack than he’d expected. Then again, he shouldn’t be that surprised, right? After all, Jerry and Tim couldn’t be more opposed if he’d tried–which was one reason he’d chosen him, but the lack of common ground meant there was nothing for the ghost to tempt him with. Brian went back to the dingy motel room he was renting, and thought about what to do next–and eventually ended up back on the Arctos website, where he saw that their product offerings were much more robust than just some second hand clothes. In fact, as he scrolled through the various pages of products, he realized that all he’d need were a few little things to give his son a push in the right direction, and his buddy’s ghost would be able to take care of the rest.

Tim was feeling rundown. School was ramping up, and he was feeling a bit lost in his Freshman year, and that weird visit with his dad hadn’t helped things much at all. He was…worried about him, but what could he do? His dad was an only child so there wasn’t much in the way of family to contact to try and intervene. He didn’t have much in the way of friends. He was at a loss, and having a hard enough time juggling his own school work to try and solve his father’s problems for him. He turned off the sidewalk and climbed the steps to the front door of the house he shared with two friends, Eric and Max, who were both pre-med students like him. There, beside the door, was a package with his name on the label, but he couldn’t recall ordering anything recently. It probably wasn’t anything exciting. He went inside, set down his bag, then went back out and brought in the small package, which was surprisingly heavy, and sounded like there were a few metal…somethings clanking inside. Max was in the kitchen eating a sandwich–and Tim eyed the disaster area with a scowl. He supposed he was just as guilty, but none of them had really had time to clean the place up much since school had gotten so busy for them, but not having a kitchen was bugging him. He was so tired of takeout!

He knifed open the tape, and found a collection of small drink cans inside, with a note folded on top. He opened it up and read:

Greetings!
You’ve been selected by a previous Arctos customer to try one of our sample products! Arctos is a lifestyle brand for men who aren’t afraid to embrace their manliness, and enjoy the company and taste of men like them. The fellow who sent this to you has great taste, and we’re certain that when you get a taste of our products, you’ll understand just what kind of quality and craftsmanship goes into all of our products–you too, will be an Arctos customer for life!

Tim pulled one of the cans out of the box, and found that it was a protein shake, or a meal replacement shake, or both? It wasn’t quite clear from the label. The only thing it promised was that he’d have more energy (something he could use for sure), build more mass (something he couldn’t care less about), and unleash the jock within (dumb marketing bullshit, more like). He had a seven day supply, one set of shakes for breakfasts, and one set of shakes for dinner in the evening.

He looked at the kitchen again, and then back at the can. Well, what did he really have to lose? It was just a shake after all. He hadn’t had any dinner plans anyway, and if he didn’t have to eat anything else, it was kind of convenient. He popped open one of the night shakes, took a sip–it wasn’t too bad–and carried the box back to his room, where he stashed them in the little fridge he usually used to hold his soda, but was empty at the moment.

He finished the shake, tossed the can in the trash, and sat down to get started on his homework, but after half an hour or so, the shake just felt like it was settling in his gut like lead, making him sleepy. He tried to concentrate on the chapter he needed to read before tomorrow, but it was no use, he was just reading the same paragraph over and over, making no real progress. He’d been up until three in the morning the last few days, and up again at eight to get to his nine o’clock lecture–his exhaustion was just catching up with him, and he was using the shake as an excuse. He struggled along for a few more hours, finding a bit of a rhythm and finishing half the chapter. He got ready for bed, figuring he’d just read the rest in the morning before class, setting his alarm for seven.

He woke up starving, stumbled over to the fridge, pulled out one of the morning cans, and knocked it back, following it up with a satisfied belch–something he usually would have never done in his life, but at least it stopped the ache in his gut. Tim tried to recall what he’d been dreaming about, but whatever it was, it must have been sexy–he’d just had his first wet dream in ages over it. Pushing that aside, he tried to finish the chapter–but now he had the opposite problem. The can was right–he did have energy, so much that he could barely stay in his seat. He got to class without finishing the reading, and sitting still through the hour and a half lecture was torturous, even though he usually loved this class. All of his classes were like that though, and finally he just skipped his last one, mostly because he was hungry. He went to the dining hall, piled a tray high with food, ate all of it somehow, and then went back to his house, but the jitters didn’t stop. He ended up just walking around the neighborhood for a while, faster and faster, even jogging at times, because that was the only time his head seemed to calm down. He swore he wouldn’t have another shake, but even after a big dinner, he was…starving, he couldn’t settle down. He relented, drank down one of the night shakes, and in less than an hour he was sleeping, snoring heaving, cock tenting his sheets.

On the third day, Tim relented and went to the gym in the morning, just planning on running on a treadmill for half an hour, to burn off some steam. The next time he checked the clock, it was one in the afternoon, his body was screaming, and he realized he’d put himself through a massive workout, despite having never lifted a weight in his life. This…didn’t concern him, somehow. He ate a big lunch–he needed plenty of fuel for his growing body, after all–and went for a jog in the afternoon, returning home in the evening, and realizing he hadn’t gone to a single class all day, and he hadn’t done any of his reading since first drinking the shakes. But something just…told him not to worry about it. He tried to read, but got bored, and ended up just jacking off instead, looking at himself in the mirror in his room, how much…bigger he’d gotten, after his day in the gym, thinking about how much larger he could get.

By the fifth day, Tim would have outgrown all of his clothes–if any of his old clothes had remained in his room. He burst out of his room after his morning shake, wearing a tank top stretched tight across his pecs, a pair of mesh shorts, and headed to the gym for his morning workout–and didn’t really bat an eye when he ended up at rugby practice that evening. The fact that he’d missed his classes didn’t faze him or his coaches. After all, a jock like him just had to worry about an easy fine arts major–he was there for sports, not to study. He went out to a bar with some of his friends, getting in with a fake ID, brought one home with him, and fucked his ass in his room before drinking his night shake and passing out again.

On the seventh day, there was a knock on the door, and Tim was surprised to find his father standing on the step, his motorcycle parked on the lawn next to the driveway. “Hey son! I was on a long ride, and thought I’d stop by and give my favorite boy a visit,” he said, pulled Tim in for a hug–and while Tim knew he should be furious for his dad for what happened over winter break, when he smelled him, there was something about him that was suddenly…alluring. Sure, he reeked like he always did now, of booze and cigar smoke and rank musk, but there was something…else in the mix that Tim couldn’t identify. “Come on Tim, you’re happy to see me, aren’t you?” Brian said–it was less a question, and more of an order.

“Of…of course dad, come on in…” Tim said, and let Brian into the house. His two housemates were at one of their classes, so they had the house to themselves for the next few hours. Brian took a moment to look his new and improved son over in the living room, and had to say he was quite impressed with the results from those protein shakes he’d had sent to him. Gone was the scrawny, short bookish boy that had gone off to college–Tim was now a bit over six feet, and close to 240 pounds of solid mass, thick pecs, a solid muscle gut beneath them, and from the bulge in the front of the shorts he was wearing, he seemed to be packing a bit more down there as well–but that could wait for a bit. First things first, was to help Tim and Jerry get acquainted at last.

“Dang son, nice little pad ya got here,” Brian said, and started looking through the place, “Where’s your room at?”

“Oh, uh, upstairs, first door on the left.”

Brian heaved his big body up to the next floor, and Tim followed him, still trying to get close enough to figure out why he smelled so nice. “So…uh, dad, any other reason you wanted to come by? I…I mean, I wasn’t expecting you at all.”

“What, a dad can’t come spend some time with his strapping, hot-as-fuck son?”

Tim blushed at the rather…sexual compliment, recalled the last time, how his dad had tried to get him to fuck him back home, and wondered why he hadn’t. Things had gotten so fuzzy lately though, and he didn’t always do things that made sense, he supposed. The last week in particular had been really weird, and now his dad just shows up out of the blue? Brian entered Tim’s room, went right for the closet, dug around and hauled out the package Tim had received earlier, which he’d mostly forgotten about. Then again, over the last few nights, he’d been having these…dreams, and now, looking at the box, it was almost…deja vu.

“What, ya never even opened it?” Brian asked.

“I…I don’t even remember what’s in there,” Tim said.

“Some clothes I bought for ya, off the internet. I thought ya’d love em. Go on son, take a look.”

So Tim starting digging around in the box, and pulling out the contents, laying it out around him. There were a bunch of tanktops, or t-shirts with the sleeves hacked off, some trucker hats, some jockstraps, cut-off jean shorts, thick wool socks, some steel toe boots, and a few cans of dip. All of the clothes were heavily stained and looked like they hadn’t been washed in ages–that, and they reeked of sweat and musk, grease and exhaust too. But looking around at them, he found that he wasn’t…that disgusted by the gear, less so than he would have expected. Little did he know, thought Brian could see behind him, that the ghost of Jerry had his fingers shoved into Tim’s head, tongue sticking out, working on manipulating the young man as best he could.

“Here’s what we’re gonna do, Tim,” Brian said, got down beside him, and pulled his son into his pit, where he’d sprayed the special deodorant from Arctos, one designed to make men much more agreeable to his demands, We’re gonna dress you up in this gear, and then you’re gonna fuck your dad’s hole, real good. Then, I think I’m gonna crash on your couch for a while–you’d like to spend some quality time with your dad, wouldn’t you?”

Tim nodded in a stupor, between the ghost working him over and the compelling musk of his father, and together, they got him dressed up in some of Jerry’s best gear, and then he fucked his father’s dirty hole for half an hour, certain, somehow, that he’d done this all before. When Eric and Max got back a few hours later, they found Brian and Tim on the couch watching TV, Tim still dressed in the gear from the box, but with the addition of a lip of chewing tobacco shoved in his mouth, spitting into an empty protein shake can. The two clean, nerdy housemates were put off at first, but Brian was able to smooth things over with them both–by evening, they were all happy to let Brian crash on the couch for a while, especially Tim, who found himself thinking more and more about how hot it had been to fuck his dad’s hole. He couldn’t resist, in fact–he dragged his dad back into his room after dinner, and fucked him again, loud and rough, while the two roommates tried to focus on their school work–but as far as Brian was concerned, the two of them wouldn’t have to worry about things like that for much longer.

Brian had arrived in late February, and both March and April passed in a blur for Tim. The protein shakes kept arriving from Arctos, and he kept drinking them. His routine was much easier now. It didn’t take much urging from his dad to convince him to drop out in March–they both knew well enough that Tim wasn’t smart enough to keep up with college, even the easy courses for stupid jocks like him. He got a membership at a little gym near the house, and started spending most of his time there. He’d wake up in the morning, down a shake from Arctos, and then jog to the gym for his daily workout, which usually lasted four or five hours. Then he’d jog home, and spend the rest of the afternoon with his dad. Sometimes they’d go for a ride–Brian had surprised him with a bike of his own (one that Brian had “convinced” a rather rude biker to give him) and go fuck off in the woods for a while. Other times they’d stay home, and fuck around there instead.

While Tim was out each morning, Brian would find other ways to occupy himself. For the first few weeks, he turned Eric and Max into his own personal projects, testing out a few other arctos products on them both. Before too long, they had dropped out of school as well, a pair of grungy, chubby, stupid pigs with tiny dicks, hungry for Tim’s cock as much as Brian was. After all, he couldn’t afford to give Tim a chance to really think about what was going on, and Jerry’s ghost needed the stimulation. His stamina had always been off the charts, and Brian wanted to make sure the ghost of his friend always had a hole available where he could drop a load. The landlord was another issue, after he came around and saw that the house was turning into a literal sty. With a little manipulation, they came to a new agreement. He’d keep paying the mortgage and utilities, but wouldn’t expect rent in cash anymore–instead, he’d get to enjoy full access to all the cameras he was going to install in the house to catch all the pigs in action, and then spend the rest of his time jacking off, watching them all go at it, day and night.

Somehow, Arctos just knew when to send the second collection of items from Jerry’s lot, and this second load was the final set. He’d lived his life on the road, in his truck, and so hadn’t had much in the way of earthly attachments. In any case, he figured it was time to introduce Jerry and Tim properly. He sent Eric and Max off to spend some time with the landlord–he’d recently gotten divorced, and he was thrilled to have the two pigs in his house, where he could watch them rut in real time. That gave him a few days with Tim, alone, to help him get acquainted with his ghost. He didn’t think he’d run into much trouble, but he had a few surprises up his sleeve, just in case.

Tim was still sleeping off their bender from the night before–in addition to his new dip habit, which had grown more and more severe over the last few months, he’d also taken to hard liquor as well, the cheaper and stronger the better, which had added to his hard gut, even as the rest of him swelled with muscle. Brian went in and gave his son a shake, and then a kiss, and told him he had a surprise for him, when he was up. Tim roused himself, stumbled into the bathroom to take care of business, then into the kitchen for his morning shake. Once he had that in him, and a lip full of dip, he went out to the living room where his dad had a couple more boxes like the one he’d sent him before. He opened up the boxes, and found them full of more clothes–more work gear, really. Some flannel shirts, all well worn and stained with dip spit, grungy hi-vis vests and jackets, more hats, some overalls and coveralls coated with engine oil and grease. Tim was happy with them–though he didn’t really know what he was supposed to do with all of it, or why all of it seemed so…familiar to him. He looked up at his dad, beaming, and shot up from the couch when he saw someone else standing there too.

“Now son, don’t be alarmed, this is Jerry–he’s a friend of mine. He’s been helping you out for the last few months, and now it’s time the two of you got properly acquainted,” Brian said, motioning to the ghost standing beside him, “Jerry died a few years back, you see–a bad accident, but now he gets a second chance, thanks to you.”

“You…what the fuck are you talking about?” Tim asked, backing away. The pale figure was massive–easily six and a half feet tall, packed with muscle, head shaved and with a beard reaching down to his waist. He was naked, and his cock–fuck, it had to be nearly a foot long, and it was mostly soft. “Why the fuck can…ghosts aren’t real, dad!”

“I woulda said the same thing a few months ago, but trust me, this is gonna be great for us both, I promise.”

“You…you did this, all of this, didn’t you?” Tim said, “You…sent those shakes, and…and the clothes! What the fuck did you do to me?”

“Look, I just needed to loosen you up a bit, so you’d understand, that’s all!”

He looked at the ghost, who hadn’t said anything yet, and then back at his dad. “So…so what now?”

“Now, well, now you and Jerry just gotta merge, is all.”

“No fucking way. I’m not letting that fucking thing in me.”

“Aww, come on, I ain’t that bad,” Jerry said, looking a bit sheepish, “I got a big dick, ‘n I fuck real good.”

“Get the fuck out of my house, dad, we’re fucking done–for real this time,” Tim said, stripping out of his clothes, and throwing everything into the boxes, “and you can take all of this shit with you!”

“Sorry son, but you don’t get a say in this,” Brian said, and gave Jerry a nod. The massive ghost stomped over, and while Tim expected him to pass right through him, the apparition grabbed hold of him, and wrestled him to the ground. “I was gonna save this for after the two of you were together, but I’m not surprised you need a little more tenderizing,” Brian said, and pulled out a sizable dildo from a bag he’d had on the coffee table. “I’ve heard these asslickers are fucking amazing, and I ordered this one custom, just for you.”

“Keep that fuckin’ thing away from me! I’m no fuckin’ bottom,” Tim shouted at his dad.

“”Sorry son, but I promise you this, this is the last cock you’ll ever take–don’t worry about that,” Brian said, and lubed up the dildo. He pressed the head to Tim’s tight hole, and watched as it slid right in, despite Tim’s cursing and resistance. The dildo had looked like a candy, almost, and when it slipped inside, he was surprised to taste…sugar on his tongue for a moment, until the outer layer dissolved away, and the first magical layer of the dildo was revealed. The sugary taste turned bitter, and then rank, the outside of the dildo now colored a rather vile mix of green and brown, something between camo and a shit stain. It tasted like someone had shoved a months worn jock into his mouth, and then he smelled something–and realized it was him.

Now, Tim hadn’t really been the cleanest fellow over the last few months, but he usually showered once a day, before putting his filthy clothes back on. It was one habit his dirtier father hadn’t been able to break him of, but he had a feeling this would take care of it. He watched as the layers of grime on the asslicker were worn off, and appeared on his son’s body, dirt and sweat and salt and grease and dipspit. “Aww fuck yeah son, now you’re smelling better, don’t you think?”

Tim tried to disagree, but let off a little moan instead, as the dildo pulsed inside him, and he found the smell wasn’t quite as bad as he’d thought. He…kind of liked it, actually. The ghost relaxed a bit, now that Tim wasn’t fighting him, and slid his fingers into the young man’s mind, warping him further, pushing his excitement to the extremes. “Fuck yeah man, we’re gonna be so fucking filthy together, just you fucking wait,” Jerry said to him, and Tim…saw things, memories, maybe, disgusting scenes from Jerry’s life, with and without Brian, and all of them were thrilling.

He didn’t notice the next layer appear on the dildo, which was now quite a bit smaller. This one was silvery, and as it was absorbed by Tim’s body, he started to get older, the hair on his head receding, while everything that remained turned grey. His gut sagged a bit, his muscles shrank slightly, but after a few minutes, he looked to be about the same age as his dad, and then, by the time the layer was gone, he was even older–pushing sixty, about the same age Jerry had been when he died.

The dildo was smaller now, just a plug really, and Brian felt it wiggle out of his hand and disappear up Tim’s hole. He gasped, feeling it squirm up his body, growing smaller, until it reached his skull, giving him a massive headache as it drilled into his brain, mashing it up, Tim drooling dipspit on the carpet as he grew dumber and dumber, feeling his cock swelling larger and larger until it exploded underneath him, expelling most of his intellect and sense with it, leaving him with a cock twice the size, and a brain not really capable of much at all. “Fuck, I…what the fuck happened tah my head?” he slurred.

Jerry could tell this was his opportunity, climbed on top of the older, filthy Tim, and shoved his massive cock into his now well loosened hole. But where Brian had merged with his ghost rather gracefully, after two thrusts Jerry was simply sucked inside Tim’s ass, and he began to writhe on the floor, Brian standing over him, watching as the final changes swept over his son, and now lover. He grew more, another few inches, until he matched Jerry’s ghost in height, and every bit of muscle he’d lost growing older he put back, with interest. A thick pelt of silvery white hair grew all over his chest, down over his belly, shoulders and arms, and tattoos began to swim up to the service of his skin, the same sleazy, redneck ink that had always turned Brian on before. A massive beard sprouted from Tim’s face, wiry and stained brown from the spit that usually drooled into it, and then Tim shuddered, his own mashed mind melding with Jerry, mixed all up together, and when he looked up and saw Brian looming over him, he couldn’t for the life of him remember if it was his dad, or…or someone he’d known long ago.

Brian helped him up and showed him his new body in the mirror, and Tim growled in excitement, seeing his old, muscular frame, filthy, clothes stretched tight over his muscle, fresh dark spit coating his lips, and he started stroking his cock, both of them watching it grow to the full fourteen inches it was now–even longer than it had been when he’d been Jerry, before. “Fuck Pa, can I fuck that nasty hole a yers already?” Tim asked.

“Pretty sure yer the daddy now,” Brian said, and bent over the counter, “Go on man, I’ve missed that cock a yers so much, fuck yer biker son’s hole already.”

First things first, Tim got down behind him, and ate him out, tasting Brian’s rank crack for a few minutes, until his cock was aching and throbbing with excitement, and then he rammed it in. It was so large, even the well practiced Brian moaned in pain as it slid into him, but Tim only fucked at one speed–as brutally as he could. Not many bottoms could handle him, which is why he’d kept coming back to Brian, after all. Well now, they were together again, for another couple of lifetimes. He came deep, holding him close, thrilled to have a second chance with his lover from a past life–and now, with Arctos, they could have a life unlike anything they’d ever imagined before.

Patreon Suggested Story – Swine Flu

My suggestion box is open each month for Patrons! Here’s one from last month, and here’s a link to this month’s suggestion box if you’d like to contribute an idea. There’s an additional suggested story from last month as well, if you missed it. You can find it here.

Each year, Henry and Clark liked to get away from their wives and kids and reconnect out in the wilderness somewhere for a week or so. It was something they’d done as brothers ever since they were teenagers, and now that they were approaching 40, they wouldn’t give up their little trip away from everyone else for anything. Their parents hadn’t always been there for them, and so they’d been each other’s biggest support network, and even their wives joked that there was no way they could tear the two of them apart. This year, they’d decided to try something a bit different–a rafting trip down a river, where they’d start up in the mountains and ride the current of the river down to the valley, where their wives would pick them up at the end of the week. With their gear packed and route planned, all that was left to do was to rent their vessel–their wives dropped them off at their starting point–a small little town whose economy revolved around campers and backpackers in the area, and they made their way to the little shop that rented out the rafts.

The older man at the desk sorted out their reservation, but the whole time he was there, he kept sneezing, and while Henry handled the paperwork and the deposit for the rental, Clark hung back a bit. It wasn’t just that he seemed sick–though he was clearly unwell, from the sweat beading on his brow, the runny nose, the snorting–it was…well, when the guy pulled off his hat, a clump of hair fell off onto the ground beside him, and his clothes looked to be a few sizes too small for him, like he’d gained weight suddenly, and hadn’t had a chance to find something else to wear. When Henry was done, and they’d left the shop, Clark commented on the guy’s appearance, and Henry shrugged. Apparently, half the town had come down with it over the last couple of days, some flu of some sort. Clark hoped that neither of them would catch it–nothing could ruin a trip like a cold.

All was good for the first day. They spent some time reminiscing, talking about their kids, about the world, and just some nice silence on the river, enjoying each other’s company. It was on the second day, as they were having a snack in the raft, that Henry sneezed for the first time, but passed it off as allergies. By evening, when they stopped to make camp, he was coming down with a fever and shakes, and was ravenously hungry. He devoured most of the meal that Clark made for them both, and then a good helping of their snacks for the next day as well. Henry bundled up in the tent, suddenly cold, but Clark decided to sleep out under the stars. If the flu was worse that Henry thought, then at least one of them needed to be well enough to go get help, if necessary.

The next morning, despite insisting that he felt fine, it was clear that something was very, very wrong with Henry. He had, somehow, gained close to fifty pounds overnight. He was still sweating, and when Clark went to touch his forehead, he found that his brother’s hair had receded, and there was hair everywhere in the tent. It didn’t take much for him to convince Henry to stay at camp while he went to go get help. There was a ranger station not too far off from where they had set up camp, with a trail leading to it. If no one was there, it wasn’t too much further to a little town where he could call for help too, if he didn’t get reception along the way.

Clark packed a light bag for himself, made sure that Henry had food to eat since he was still starving, and set off to go get help. The ranger station was only a couple of miles up, but the trail wasn’t well marked. He was worried that he was lost and going in circles, when he spotted the little cabin tucked away, with a jeep parked beside it on a dirt road. That meant someone had to be there. He climbed up the steps and knocked on the door, but no one answered–even though he could hear someone inside. Or was that someones? There was a lot of grunting, but seemed to be two distinct voices. He opened the door, and there in the middle of the floor were two…men. Or at least, two people that were probably men once. They were naked, their bodies naked and glistening with sweat. The one on the bottom was completely hairless, and probably two hundred pounds heavier than the more muscular man fucking him, who had a coating of boar bristle running down his back, arms and thighs.

He turned at the sound of the door, and his face–what the fuck had happened to his face? His mouth and nose had pushed out into something like a snout, with two short tusks pushing their way out on either side of his mouth. He snorted, hauled his cock out of the fat one, and started towards Henry, his hard, inhuman, and very large cock pointed right at him and drooling cum in a steady stream on the floor. “Fuckin’ horny!” the beast said, and made a grab for Clark, who ducked back out of the way and ran–but not before he saw the shredded ranger uniform still clinging to the man’s body. He didn’t pursue Clark far, but went back in and resumed fucking the other pigman.

What the fuck was happening? Clark checked the jeep, but it was locked. He wasn’t about to risk getting the keys out of the cabin, not with those two things in there. Instead, he kept going, following the road to town, which was only a couple of miles further on. There, things were much the same. No sign of women anywhere, just these monstrous pigmen, not one of them smaller than five hundred pounds, all of them fucking one another, unless they were stuffing their faces with anything they could find. He saw a few less severe cases, and all of them looked to be sick with the flu–the same flu that had stuck his brother down back at their camp. One, he watched get fucked by one of the massive, boarish fellows, and right before Clark’s eyes, he ballooned out into a soft, simple minded hog. From then on, the only thing that he seemed interested in was getting fucked, or stuffing his body with anything he could get his hands on. Clark kept his distance, and retreated back down the dirt road–hoping he could get back to his brother in time.

He slept a bit in the forest, fitfully, and didn’t make it back until dawn. There, he found Henry in the tent, wrenching in pain, face contorted, somewhere between human and beast. Clark tried to help him, tried to tell him what he’d seen, but Henry just grabbed him, tore off his clothes, and fucked him there by the side of the river. Clark begged him not to, at first, but after the first load coated his guts, the strange swine flu working through his system, Clark found that he was having a hard time thinking about, well, anything. All he could focus on was getting more dick in him, more hot boar dick, and the two brothers spent the next few days in a near constant sexual fervor by the river, until their growling bellies dragged them back to town, and then down into the cities. The world wasn’t prepared for this epidemic, and it wasn’t long before pigs took over and ruled the Earth.