Tag: incest

The Morning After – Billy Part 4

They spent the rest of their shift fondling each other’s cocks, Billy shooting once in his briefs from Derek’s attentions. He already was in better spirits, laughing and joking and flirting like normal, until they got back to the dump around eleven, and clocked out at noon.

He followed Derek into the locker room, where any number of other guys were laughing and changing back into their casual clothes. His feet walked him over to a locker he never remembered seeing before in his life. He pulled a set of keys from his pocket–all of which were unfamiliar, even though he could say what most of them opened, and used a small one on the lock. Inside, however, there weren’t any clothes at all, just a few scattered papers, a cellphone, some half eaten snacks from the vending machine, and a bottle of painkillers. There should be clothes in there, right? He looked around at the rest of the men, some leaving the locker room looking perfectly normal, none of them wearing their coveralls from work…so why didn’t he have any other clothes like they did?

Something was wrong. Something was wrong, and he didn’t know what it was. Something was following him, something was inside him, something else was here, and he couldn’t see it, but it was wrong, and it was wrong with him. He was starting to panic, he couldn’t catch his breath, he had to be going insane.

Calm down.

He looked to the side, and caught a look at himself in the mirror. He looked like a mess–his hair too long, something between stubble and a short beard smeared across his face, a gut bulging out, coveralls filthy.

This is what you like to wear. Calm down.

It was a stranger. He didn’t know what he should look like, he didn’t but he was certain that it was a stranger in the mirror.

Calm.

He blinked a few times. What had he been thinking about? He turned back to his locker, grabbed his cell phone and slid it into the pocket of his coveralls, and started for the door. Derek was already changed and waiting for him, wearing the same grimy looking jeans and sleeveless shirt he’d had on for the last month already. “You ready to go yet? Finished staring at yourself in the mirror?”

“Shut the fuck up, ya fuckin’ bitch,” Billy said, and smacked Derek on the back. He laughed.

“You finally got over your fuckin’ blues then?”

He nodded. He did feel better. Calmer.

“Come on, let’s get going. I wanna get home so I can plug that fat ass of yours.”

They walked out into the parking lot, and Billy followed Derek to his truck. He…knew what was going to happen. They’d drive to the little rundown one bedroom apartment they shared together. Once there, they’d fuck, still dirty and grimy from work, usually without even taking off their clothes. Then, maybe, they’d change, eat, watch TV, drink, and go to bed. Like usual. Like…they always did. He tried to tell himself that, but he didn’t quite believe it. Should he get in the truck? Should he try and convince Derek that something strange was happening? That he wasn’t feeling so well after all? He stood at the passenger door of the truck, hand on the handle, trying to get his mouth to form the words, when the phone in his pocket started shaking and ringing. He looked at the ID–it was coming from someone named Owen. Should he answer it? He didn’t know any one named Owen, did he? He answered it.

“Hello?”

“Billy! Fuck man, you have to help me, this is all fucked.”

“Who–Look, I don’t–”

“Look, just come over to my room, I need your help. Something happened last night man, something weird. I can’t look in the mirror man, I can’t!”

Last night. Where had he been last night? Billy remembered the dream that had already faded away from him, of waking up naked in that alley, but that couldn’t have happened. He’d been with Derek since their shift started at four in the morning…right? Or was this a dream, really? Nothing felt real to him, but maybe…

“Billy? Come on Billy, fuckin’ talk to me man.”

“Alright, I’ll…I’ll come over. Where are you?”

“Back at the hotel–where else would I be? Wait…where are you?”

Billy bit his lip. Should he be somewhere else? “I’m…I’m out.”

“Did you not get back last night? I know…I know we all got separated in there.”

“Look, just tell me where you are.”

“I’m at the hotel, I made it back here.”

“Look…I…someone else is driving me at the moment, I have to give him the name of the hotel. I…I forgot it.”

Owen was quiet for a moment, “I…I am talking to Billy, right? You sound weird man.”

“Look, it’s been a…crazy morning, just fuckin’ tell me what hotel.”

“Alright, alright. The Nettywood Suites, by the college. Hurry–I think I’m losing my mind.”

Billy got in the truck. “Bro, ya think we could make a stop real quick on the way?”

The Morning After – Billy Part 3

“What the fuck is wrong with you today, man? Get a god damn move on.”

He tried to push it from his mind, and he climbed up into the truck, but for the rest of the shift, he stayed silent. Derek gave up after a few minutes, and resigned himself to a day of silence, wondering what in the world had gotten into Billy all of a sudden. Billy found himself checking his reflection in the side mirrors of the truck. Whenever he focused on it, he could recognize himself, but when he caught it at a glimpse, he’d whirl over like he’d just seen a stranger. Still, the more he worked with Derek, the more he got his hands dirty, he started to feel like the dream was fading somewhat, though the most unnerving fact–that he still didn’t have much memory of what was going on–remained constant. At nine, they parked the truck for a bit and went to a little cafe for coffee and a bite to eat. Derek ordered for them both, and came over to the table with a heavily sugared red eye for Billy, along with four pastries, and looking at it, he suddenly had a deja vu. He’d done this before, hadn’t he? Not this, exactly, but he’d eaten here before, lots to times, with Derek on their route…right?

“Alright, now what the hell’s the matter with you man? Ever since you blanked out earlier, you’ve been like a god damn stone.”

“Yeah…I don’t…I’m sorry, maybe I just had too much to drink last night.”

“Man, you have too much to drink every night. You were passed out drunk on the couch like usual.”

Billy looked at him. Had he been? He didn’t remember, but how would Derek even know that, anyway?”

“I’m just…a little out of sorts is all.”

He looked down, and saw that without realizing it, he’d already eaten one of the pastries Derek had bought for him, and had started on a second. He’d been talking with his mouthful the entire time. Either unwilling or unable to stop, he kept going, the two of them making small talk, though it was a bit difficult for Billy, because most of the time he had no idea what Derek was talking about. They got up from the table, and Billy adjusted his coveralls to better fit around his small paunch, and followed Derek back to the truck. “Look bro, I know you better than anyone. I can tell something’s up. What aren’t you telling me?”

Billy was quiet for a moment, and then tried to put the words together. What was wrong, even? Everything? Nothing? “Do you…look, maybe I should ask you…did we have sex in…in an alley, earlier today?”

“I think I would remember that,” Derek said with a laugh, “Is that your problem? You’re fuckin’ horny? Bro, you know we can take care of that back in the cab.” Derek came closer to him, pushing Billy up against the side of the truck. “You know big bro is always ready for his little bro, any time.”

Billy’s gut was pushing into Derek’s, not uncomfortably, but rather, like it was something he’d never felt before. In his dream, he’d been in decent shape–certainly not peak condition, but now, he could tell he was fatter. Then again, hadn’t he always been fat? “I-I mean…” fuck he was hard again. Derek leaned in before he could say anything else and started kissing him, and Billy was more than happy to return the affection.

“I think we can spare an extra few minutes for lunch, don’t you? I bet you want some dessert, right?”

Billy licked his lips, and got down on his knees. He realized, suddenly, that he’d done this before. Derek unzipped his coveralls and let his cock out of his briefs. He’d done this before, in the alley, he had, he knew he had, and he wanted it, he wanted to taste it again. He took the cock in his mouth, and he realized something else–he’d done this lots of times. He sucked his brother off all the time, right? He knew just where to nibble, just how hard to suck. Derek reached around and grabbed his hair, just like he had in the alley, just like he always did, and started shoving his cock down his throat. He’d gagged before (or had he not gagged in ages?) and just let his brother fuck him rough.

“Fat…Fat fuckin’ pig. Fuck,” Derek groaned, “Fuckin’ eat it!”

The cock in Billy’s mouth exploded, and he swallowed it all down, before hefting himself back up with a hand from his brother.

“Thanks bro, I’ve been horny all morning.”

“Even after our fuck earlier?”

Derek just looked at him, “What fuck earlier?”

“When…when you fucked me in the alley.”

“We never fucked in an alley today.”

Billy was certain he remembered Derek fucking him, but from the look in his brother’s eyes, he knew he wouldn’t believe him. He just shrugged and climbed back up into the cab.

Caption Day – 1 of 2

In the end, it had been easier than I’d thought to get the nanobots into Mac and his two chubby sons, Eric and Kyle. A good dose in their family pool took care of the two boys while they were swimming one afternoon, and Mac was more than happy to take a beer from me that same day while we chatted across the fence. And now–well, now I get to have all the fun I want with the three of them.

All of them know something wrong, but none of them can quite articulate what exactly. Besides, who would they tell? It’s not like Mac can tell the police that sometimes when he’s with his sons, he becomes uncontrollably horny and rapes whatever hole he can stick his cock in the fastest. Sometimes, they even seem to want it more than he does, jacking off in the open, Kyle pinning him down while Eric sucks his cock. And his sons seem to spend more time fucking each other than anything else anymore, and sometimes Mac will just sit and watch, milking himself to orgasm after orgasm, over and over again.

But this last week, well, this has just been me testing what the bots can do–I haven’t even introduced them to me yet. I think that will happen tonight. I’ll go over, and all three of them won’t be able to help themselves–but we have plenty of time, they can spend all night worshiping my body. By morning, I’m sure all three of them will be more than willing to call me Master, and do anything I say, like proper bear sluts.

Still, emotions are easy–thoughts take a bit longer to embed in my three subjects. Still, I’ve been wearing them down. All three of them have already become complete nudists at home, without even being consciously aware of it. Mac went and got his first tattoo yesterday, a bear paw colored like the bear flag across his ass, without even questioning it, and he’s going to be getting quite a few more in the weeks to come, I can tell you that. In a few months, the whole family will be sponsoring orgies off of Craigslist, and then all of my friends will have access to every one of their kinky holes. Anyway, I’d better get going before it gets totally dark–I have a long night ahead of me after all, and I can’t wait to get started.

Family Heritage – Part 2 (Patreon Commission)

Grant had received a steady stream of packages from his grandfather’s estate since the first a few months ago. The pace was so rapid that his apartment quickly was becoming cluttered with his things. His mind was becoming rather cluttered as well–there was so much to study, so much to process, and he just didn’t know where to even begin his studies. Quite a few of the boxes had simply been filled with books–everything from spellbooks and alchemical references to family memoirs and genealogies, while others contained jumbled collections of pipes, alchemical materials, and one shipment was simply a massive chest with no hinges or sign that it could even be opened. But perhaps what was most frustrating was that he had no way of testing his new powers. He lived in the middle of a large city–he couldn’t just go around casting spells on random people, especially when he couldn’t even be sure he was doing it right. He could try them on himself, but if something went wrong, then he might not be able to fix it at all.

Given that his apartment was quickly becoming a mess and a laboratory, the few times he escaped were to either go to work, where he mostly thought about magic, or heading over to visit Aaron, where he could get away from the books and spells for a bit and just be a person again–and fuck around of course. If there was anything his new body loved to do, it was fuck. Still, Aaron could sense something was bothering him, and Grant couldn’t exactly confide in him about his new hobby. Grant pulled away, and Aaron couldn’t figure out how to get him to open up. Finally, they had a raging argument over Grant’s constant pipe smoking–something Aaron couldn’t stand–and Grant stormed out of the apartment. Aaron pouted for a couple of hours, and decided he had to figure out what was wrong with his boyfriend.

Grant, however, had spent those few hours in his apartment, surrounded by his grandfather’s things, fuming smoke. He was just so frustrated, and Aaron didn’t understand anything! His family had always been known as hotheads, but it was never a trait Grant had struggled with, but now…he simply couldn’t stop being angry. He could feel everything in the apartment resonating with his anger as well, books falling from shelves, liquids boiling in their jars. If anything, all of the energy stored up in the place was shaking, desperate to get out, along with his anger. And so, when Aaron knocked on the door, and Grant flung the door open, and they started shouting at each other all over again in Grant’s living room, it only grew worse. The walls and floor started to creak and shake, and Aaron saw Grant’s hair start to swirl out as though lifted by an invisible wind. Terrified, he backed towards the door, but it was locked by some invisible force.

Grant, however, in the middle of the storm, felt both incredibly calm and impossibly tense at the same time. He was desperately trying to wrangle together his thoughts. He was angry–angry at Aaron for wanting to intrude. Angry at himself, for keeping him at a distance. In love with him, even though he knew he could never bring him close enough to love him completely. If only. If only Aaron was someone closer. If only Grant could protect him. If only Aaron could love him completely. If only, if only, if only, and the power building in him twisted those desires into a ball of light and smoke, and flung it directly into Aaron’s chest.

The collision was blinding. Aaron felt it infuse every part of his body with light, heating him up, changing him…somehow. It was hot as well, so hot, it felt like his mind was boiling and shifting, like he wasn’t quite himself anymore, and even as he felt that strange idea in his mind, he couldn’t quite remember how he’d used to be to even make the comparison. For Grant, the flash passed in an instant, searing his eyes, and he blinked a few times, but in the aftermath, Aaron was gone–or at least, the Aaron that had been there moments before was gone. In his place was someone new–or at least, Grant thought he was new.

He was quite a bit shorter, for one, and much wider. Aaron had been a bit of a beanpole in shape, but now he couldn’t have been more that five and a half feet tall, but his trunk was packed with fat and muscle, making him take up plenty of space, his legs thick, heavy and a bit bowed, with a thick, hefty cock hanging down, his sack hanging a bit lower even. He was covered in hair, almost as much as Grant, all of it a light strawberry blonde, including a bushy goatee centered in a round face topped with short bristly hair. And his eyes. He was looking at Grant, but with a look he’d never seen in Aaron. He wasn’t just horny, it wasn’t just love, it was hunger, and the naked cub tromped towards Grant while he couldn’t move, got down under his kilt, and started sucking on his cock.

What had he just done? He could feel the magic still reverberating around the room, waves of it washing back over him, and each wave brought an onslaught of thoughts and memories that hadn’t been there before. The first evaporated his anger, converting it into lust. Lust for his boy, lust for his cub. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d been this hard, and he started thrusting into Aaron’s open mouth, feeling his entire cock slip effortlessly down his boy’s well trained throat. Another wave rocked him, and he felt his chest well up with love, but a different kind of love than he’d felt for Aaron before. It wasn’t a cautious love, it was now impossible to deny, as though it was built into his very bones. His son–he’d do anything for him, anything he could to protect him and keep him safe. Another wave, and his old memories of Aaron faded into a dim backdrop as others filled in. How he’d raised him from a small lad, how he’d become closer to him than anyone else, how they knew each other’s bodies intimately. Aaron’s blow job suddenly intensified–he knew exactly where to tease his daddy, exactly how to push him close to the edge without sending him over. But Grant knew what he really wanted. He wanted his boy’s ass today.

He pulled his son out from under his kilt and hauled him up, leaning over him, feeding his smoke from his pipe for a few minutes, before pulling him over to the couch, sitting him down on it, facing him, so they could keep kissing while he fucked his son. He couldn’t believe what he’d done. How could he forgive himself? He locked eyes with Aaron, and felt another wave push through him. Then again, there was nothing to forgive, was there? He thrust inside his boy’s perfect hole, hearing him gasp in pleasure, reached down, and started milking his thick cock with one hand while thrusting inside him. They exploded together, and it felt like the air around them finally settled again, the chaotic spell finally finished. They shared a bit more smoke, Grant staying inside his son’s ass a bit longer, as he softened. He’d have to fix this, of course–but maybe…maybe for just a while, he could enjoy this, and be happy.

Baby Bear – Part 3

Such a sweet baby bear. A fighter to the end. But now those big eyes of his are empty, ready to be filled with whatever I want–still, that can wait until morning. He’s very tired after all of that, and so am I for that matter. I get him changed into a fresh diaper and then put him to bed–he’s sleeping in the nursery now, of course, not the guest room. He’s so cute in his crib, binky in his mouth, clutching a blanket.

The next morning, I wake him up, and after a morning blow job, I see what remains after the battle the night before. He is quite stupid, I must say. A pity too–I was hoping he’d be smart. I’d been wanting to raise a businessman, but it looks like I’ll have to change my plans. His vocabulary is very simple, his math and reasoning skills are stunted. Still, he has a good sense of humor, and goodness is he eager to please! That’s such a good sign–that means he’ll be all grown up again in no time at all.

Of course, the first few months were spent getting baby to a place where we could start his education proper. Helping him remember how to walk, for instance. He may have been a baby, but I certainly couldn’t carry him everywhere, especially with his developing appetite. This was going to be a chubby bear, I’d already decided–he’d arrived husky, and I wanted to see what he looked like with some more meat on his bones. And of course, I reinforced his oral fixation–he just wasn’t happy without something in his mouth. That helped inspire his new name, too–Orel. A good name for a fatass, dumb baby bear who loves to suck on anything he can get his mouth around.

After those first few months, he was finally walking again, and had recovered some of his vocabulary, but not very much at all. I realized I was going to have to lower my expectations for Orel rather substantially. That’s not to say I don’t love him! I love all my boys, but some rise higher than others. Once I felt like I could trust him to not drop it, I got him smoking. All my boys smoke, of course, just like their daddy. We started with cigarettes, and once the addiction had him smoking two packs a day, I switched him to cigars, which he enjoyed much more, because, as he said with his characteristic enthusiasm, “they’re shaped like cocks!” That had him so excited, he giggled about it all day, but watching him suck on those tobacco shafts sure did get me hornier for his throat more than anything else.

He stayed with me for a few years. Pretty soon, he was tipping the scales at 400 pounds, and it was getting hard to find diapers large enough for him to wear. Potty training was proving difficult. In fact, it seemed that he liked soiling himself. Of course, all my boys like it to some extent–it reminds them of their second childhood more than anything else–but for Orel, he eventually confessed that he just liked how it felt to have a heavy diaper on, that it made him feel like a bad boy who needed to be punished by his daddy with a fuck or a spanking. He liked feeling like a bad boy, he added, and then he giggled like a fool. I suppose I shouldn’t have been all that surprised–someone who’d put up as much of a fight as he did was bound to have a rebellious streak in him, so I decided to just go along with it and encourage him. If he wanted to be stuck in diapers for the rest of his life, then so be it–I certainly wasn’t going to complain about it–but forcing him to take responsibility for it…well, that proved to be a bit harder.

Sometimes, I’m sure he just forgot to change himself, but other times, I knew he’d just keep his filthy diaper on because he liked it. He liked being dirty, and he liked being a slob. Part of that was my fault, I suppose. I’d conditioned him to enjoy humiliation, especially being belittled for how stupid he was, and so it isn’t surprising that he enjoyed the fact that he was a sat around in his own filth as well, but It was a bit of a complication in my plans. By this time, he was pretty much all grown up again–just another one of my bears–and that meant it was time for him to move out and move on with his new life. But to do that, well, he needed a job, but that was going to be a challenge. He was too stupid to do anything with a computer from home, which would have let him be as much of a slob as he’d like, and he couldn’t do anything social with his poor hygiene and lackluster social skills. Thankfully, one of my other boys, Barry, came through for me. He had a fuckbuddy who ran a delivery company, and he was willing to let Orel drive one of his trucks. He’d be working nights, so he wouldn’t have to talk to many people, and as long as he could drive well enough, and provide his boss with a throat to fuck on occasion, it would work out fine. Now all I had to do was teach him to drive–a challenge, but not an insurmountable one, and giving him something that he could succeed at made Orel happy. “I might be dumb as a rock, ‘n I might be a nasty poopypants, and I’s a fat slut for sure, but at least I can drive a damn truck, right Daddy?” he told me one day with that big grin of his, sitting in the driver seat of the truck we were using for driver’s education and I could tell everything would work out alright for my baby bear in the end. Now I just had to get to work on finding one to replace him.

Mr. Drake’s Games – Part 3

“Here’s what we’re gonna do, boy,” Mr. Drake said, “Or rather, what you’re gonna do. I want to see you jack off, lard ass. I wanna see you pump a load of cum out into those massive rolls of fat you have now. And what I’m gonna do, is every minute you spend trying to cum, I’m gonna change something about you. Alright? See that clock on the wall? In fifteen seconds, that second hand is gonna hit the twelve, and then you can start–heh, well why don’t I give you a head start? You might need it.”

Jay didn’t need any encouragement or direction beyond that. He started digging around under his fat with both hands, desperately searching for his half sized cock. He could find his balls relatively easily, and they were really very huge, but for the life of him, he couldn’t quite reach his cock. He kept trying, pushing up into his fat as hard as he could, occasionally brushing his hand across the head, but he couldn’t get a grip.

“That’s your first minute–How about he give you some more hair? Hell, how about a lot more hair? I like my fatties hairy as hell.”

“I can’t fucking reach it. I can’t fucking reach my cock!” His body was itching as hair grew in, dense across his entire body, and the thick bush accumulating at his groin didn’t make it any easier to reach his cock either.

“Well, then I guess I’m gonna be changing you a whole lot then, aren’t I?”

Jay kept trying, one hand working his nipples, keeping himself hard, but it was no use.

“Another minute down–how about a big beard to go with that hairy body of yours? I want to see that head shaved, though.”

“Please, there’s nothing I can fucking do!”

Mr. Drake wrapped his hand in the long beard pushing it’s way out of Jay’s chin, and he leaned in closer, “I just don’t think you’re being very imaginative, is all. I don’t think you really want to cum, is your problem.”

Jay did his best to calm down, and tried to think. If he couldn’t reach his cock, then he was going to have to try something else to stimulate himself. He rolled his body, and felt a shiver of pleasure, and then shoved his hips forward, feeling his cock working its way in and out of his fatpad. With a grunt, he started tugging at his nipples, feeling his arousal growing higher, bucking his cock into his fat. Closer, he was getting closer now.

“Still taking too long, boy. How about we see what happens when we make you a bit dirtier, eh? No more showers, no more baths, just a stinking pile of fat, and you fucking love it.”

The sweat building up as he tried to fuck himself suddenly reeked, and as much as Jay wanted it to disgust him, it didn’t. It only made him hornier, and he lifted one arm, taking a long snort of his hairy pit, licking up his own fat sweat. But he was getting tired, he had to find a better way to rub his cock off. Maybe if he tried a different position. He rolled over and dropped off the couch onto his knees, facing the seat, bucking his hips as hard as he could into his fatpad, but it still wasn’t enough for him.

“Poor little piggy, it seems like you’re still having some trouble there. Maybe you should go ahead and start making some sexy pig noises too?”

His face hurt, like his nose was pushing into his face, and suddenly he was snorting and grunting, unable to help himself. “Please, I can’t, *grunt* I need help…” he managed to get out between gasps.

“Do you want me to help you? I could probably do that, but you’d better ask me nicely. You’d better beg.”

“Please, please help me, I *snort* need to cum so bad, I can’t do it, I need you to help me.”

Mr. Drake helped Jay stand up and bend over the sofa, presenting his ass away towards Mr. Drake. Of course, all of this had cost another minute, and he could feel the heavy septum ring now hanging from his nose, feel the studs in his nipples, the rings in his scrotum which Mr. Drake added. Mr Drake worked his cock into his fat hole, and it was unlike anything Jay had ever felt before. He was squealing, desperately trying to get as much of the old man’s cock in him as he could, and he was cumming, he was finally cumming, and he huffed and puffed and collapsed into the couch while Mr. Drake kept pounding his fat hole, shooting his own load deep inside his ass.

“Well done, pig–too bad that still took you an extra minute. But watching that performance, I know just the thing, right pigslave? Yeah, Pigslave. Owned by your fat, nasty dad, and he lends you out to all the perverts in the neighborhood, and you fucking love it. You love it because you’re too dumb to know any better. You love it because seeing someone look at you like you’re less than human makes that little piggy cock of your hard. You love it because it gives you an excuse to belly up to your trough and get even fatter, isn’t that right, Pigslave?”

He tried to say no, but all he could do was grunt and squeal–after all, he wasn’t allowed to talk. Pigs were never supposed to talk like men. Something tight was around his neck, and he recognized it as his collar. It felt good, actually, a reminder that he was owned. That he was just an animal for men’s pleasure. Mr. Drake clipped the leash onto it, and led him out the door and across the asphalt, back towards his house. He knew he should be embarrassed, but he also wasn’t quite sure why. Why would a pig like him be embarrassed? This is just what he is. His dad–no, his Master–was happy to get him back, and made sure he’d done a good job pleasing Mr. Drake. As a reward, Jay got his dinner an hour early. He crawled over to the trough in the kitchen, and his dad poured in his slop, and he lost himself in his feast. By the time he’d finished, Jay was dead and gone, and all that remained was the neighborhood pigslave, exactly what he’d always wanted to be.

Mr. Drake’s Games – Part 1

“Oh, just go help him out, Jay,” his dad said, “Mr. Drake said he’d pay you twenty bucks.”

“But dad, he’s a fucking creep.” Then again, it wasn’t all that surprising that his dad and Mr. Drake got along–both of them were chubby, hairy old faggots. Hell, just the way his dad was looking at him, was making him uncomfortable…his dad never used to look at him like that…right?

Jay’s dad just stared at him from where he was lounging in his recliner, naked like he always was around the house. Part of Jay knew that wasn’t normal, but he couldn’t quite figure out where his doubts were coming from. “Go help our neighbor, or no video games for a week.”

“But dad–”

“Go on, Jay.”

Jay grumbled, but he headed out the front door and crossed the cul-de-sac heading towards Mr. Drake’s house. He couldn’t believe his dad sometimes–he hated it here. Why in the hell hadn’t he gotten out of here yet? Jay had turned twenty one a few months ago, but he was having a hard time getting on his feet. He certainly hadn’t planned on staying with his dad, but a DUI during his senior year of high school had cost him the athletic scholarship he’d been banking on to go to college, and so here he was stuck, with his fat, dirty slob of a father. At least he was still in shape, he told himself–it could be worse. Still, something was bothering him–his dad had used to hate Mr. Drake, hadn’t he? Everyone in the neighborhood did–he was dragging everyone’s property values down with his hoarding and decrepit old house. He was still trying to figure out what was wrong as he climbed up onto the porch cluttered with junk and knocked on the door. “Mr. Drake? Are you there?”

“Is that you Jay? Come on in, boy.”

Jay pushed open the door to his neighbor’s house, and found himself confronted with a very naked Mr. Drake on a couch, leering at him.

“What the fuck? Put some clothes on, you fucking sicko!”

“Heh, I’d be much happier to see you lose yours, Jay. In fact, why don’t we get right to it and grow you out of them?”

Jay wanted to run, but somehow he was rooted to the spot where he was standing, and something strange was happening–his body, he could feel himself changing. Looking down, his tight T-shirt was starting to bulge out, and started to ride up as his abs were swallowed up by a soft, pudgy gut. “What…what the fuck are you doing? Fucking stop it!” Mr. Drake didn’t say anything, and Jay felt his clothes tightening around him, the collar cutting into his fattening neck, chest tight across his growing moobs, the seams of his jeans starting to tear as his thighs expanded. Mr. Drake stood up from the couch, walked over and started ripping at Jay’s clothes, pulling them away in tatters until he stood naked aside from a pair of very tight briefs stretched tight by his new fat body.

“Oh yes, that’s much better,” Mr. Drake said, “No more muscles for you boy, just fat, fat, fat, just like your new fatass daddy over there.”

Jay was trying to move, but his feet were still rooted to the floor, Mr, Drake feeling his fat curves and laughing, “This is crazy, what the hell did you do to me?” he asked.

“Oh, I’m just having a little fun, is all,” Mr. Drake said, “I was getting tired of everyone around here looking down at me all the time, so I thought why not bring everyone else down here with me? And who better to start with than your big buff dad and his muscular son? Then again, you probably don’t remember how your dad used to look, do you? He was muscular too, earlier today, but after a little bit of conversation…well, he’s much friendlier now, don’t you think? He certainly things highly of you–why we masturbated together earlier, fantasizing about what we were going to do to you.”

He could remember. Those strange thoughts he’d been having as he walked over here, he could remember…kind of. His dad had been in shape like him. A clean freak, not the fat slob who’d sent him over here. Now he felt something else–fear. He was fat–fatter than he could believe…and he couldn’t quite remember being thin at all. He’d been this fat all his life, hadn’t he? “Please, I don’t know what you want, but please, don’t do this to me.”

Mr. Drake laughed, “Well, how about this? How about you lay down here, and you do, say, one hundred sit ups? If you can do that–if you can prove to me how much you want that hot, muscular body of yours back, then I’ll give it to you. I’ll even change your dad back, and I’ll leave forever. How does that sound? But if you can’t, well, then being fat is going to be the least of your worries, boy.”

What choice did he have? He cleared a space among the trash littering Mr. Drake’s floor, and got down. How hard could it be, anyway? He could do a hundred sit ups easily. He shoved himself up, pushing against all the new weight holding him down, and realized this was going to be much harder than he thought. But what choice did he have? Mr. Drake counted as he did, taunting him as he started shaking, as he started slowing down. Laughing matching his panting.

“You’re not gonna make it, look at you fatty! You’re not even halfway and you’re already close to a heart attack.”

But he hit fifty, and he kept going, his lungs burning, abs threatening to cramp up, but he kept going. Mr. Drake grew quieter as he hit eighty and kept going, but at eighty seven, he finally hit a limit. He simply couldn’t raise himself up again, and he collapsed back onto the ground with a sob.

“Well, you did better than I thought you would, but you still didn’t make it boy–so I guess the question is what I’m going to do to you now? Still, I bet you’re thirsty–would you like a drink?”

Hell yeah, I’m fuckin’ thirsty,” Jay said.

“Well come on then, you fuckin’ faggot, drink all the old cum you want,” Mr. Drake said, got down on his knees with his cock in Jay’s face, and his fat young neighbor swallowed the head without even questioning it, sucking at the head happily. It was only a few minutes later, when he’d been worshiping the old cock avidly, that Jay realized what he was doing, and he struggled–but exhausted from his failed challenge, Mr. Drake was easily able to shove his head back against the floor and fuck his throat. After a minute, the doubts passed again, and Jay began moaning in pleasure until his neighbor came, pumping his entire load down Jay’s gulping throat, and then he got off him, huffing and puffing himself.

“You made me a faggot,” Jay said.

“You don’t seem to be complaining.”

“I’m…I’m not. I mean, no. What the fuck is wrong with me?” he said to himself, “I don’t want this, I fucking don’t, but…”

“But it feels good, doesn’t it? My old cum tastes good, and you want more, don’t you?”

Jay’s face turned red again. They both knew what the answer was.

“Still, thanks for your help–if I need another blow job, you’ll be happy to help me out, I’m sure–but you should get home fatty–I bet your dad would love a blow job too.”

Jay sat up, and then he had a thought. It was a long shot, but maybe, just maybe he still had a chance to get out of this.

The Fall of Troy – Part 6

***WARNING*** Contains mentions of scat and bestiality.

Troy had expected, like before, that he would have no memory of that old life of his, but Leo had no real reason any more to lock them away–after all, Troy had no real desire to go back to his old ways anymore. Trying to describe it to himself, once his father’s eyes had returned to their normal grey, it was like he was trapped on the side of a sheer cliff plunging down into darkness. leo had been leading him down the side all weekend, but only now did he realize his predicament. He was now incapable of climbing the side of the cliff back to where, and who, he’d been, but more importantly, he no longer desired that self. Down there, into the darkness, there was someone down there, someone he could be who was far more interesting, far sexier, far more desirable than anything he’d been before, and he wanted to get there, he wanted to climb down as deep as he could go.

From that moment on, Troy rarely ventured up the stairs into the house proper. As far as his step-mother was concerned, he didn’t even exist. Leo, in an effort to help his son, brought in a number of private tutors he’d contacted online, who were more than happy to help guide his son deeper into the pit. Master Parker, an overly muscled power bottom, helped stretch Troy’s holes, taught him to eliminate his gag reflex, showed him how to take two big arms in his ass at the same time, and just how good a punch fuck could feel. Master Jack, a chubby, grungy trucker, oversaw his development as a true, full service toilet slave. Master Emerson developed his sadism, schooled him in bondage and pain, as well as the proper manners of a pig in his position. Troy eagerly learned everything he could, finding his way down the slope. Before too long, he discovered that the light was disappearing on its own. He could barely recall his old self, and he pushed it away, eager to be away from it.

Of course, he had to make money in order to pay rent. Leo was flexible, but he wasn’t about to have a son in his house who couldn’t pay his fair share. Much of his money, at first, came from renting himself out to private fetish parties, generally as a toilet, or occasionally as a fist hole for a group of tops to brutalize. His camshows gained a devoted viewership as well, watching him degrade himself in his rooms, fuck himself with massive dildos, eat his own shit off a plate. For a certain amount of money, someone could pay him to fulfill a particular fantasy of theirs–some were easier than others, but finding a farmer willing to let a boar fuck his hole in his barn took him and Leo several months of searching.

It was his idea to sell off his skin. For a steep price, including the cost of the tattoo, anyone could buy a patch of his skin and cover it with the tattoo of their choosing. His father actually purchased the first one–which turned out to be a fine business investment of it’s own. He had the name of his cam site tattooed across his forehead–www.fithpigtroy.net–and immediately he saw an increase in subscribers. Some people paid for more traditional tattoos, like the realistic turds tattooed on his cheeks, but quite a few others followed Leo’s example and used his skin to advertise their own fetish sites.

Years passed, and Troy began to notice something new–there were certainly plenty of men who watched him to see him humiliate himself, but there was also a group who wanted to be him. Who wished they could take the same steps that he had, who wanted to be pigs too. He offered an apprenticeship (serious applications only) and was swamped by the response. He eventually culled the applicants to one, and he moved his apprentice pig in with him, showing him the ropes, finding a strange pleasure in controlling someone and forcing them to walk their way down into the same deep pit of deranged filth that he himself now called home. And that was when the trouble started.

He and Leo started fighting more and more often. Troy was the one making him all of his money after all, so why shouldn’t he be able to keep it? Leo, finally, had had enough, and he tried to stare him down, only to discover his son had fallen deeper than he could control–Troy was his own pig now, and there was nothing he could do about it. Troy and his apprentice pressed their advantage, blindfolded him and chained him to a chair, and a new bidding process began. Tens of thousands of dollars later, it was decided–Troy shipped Leo off to a private bathhouse where he would spend the rest of his days chained in a bathroom, just another urinal for the men who visited there, and Troy’s empire grew. True, he may have fallen, and yet, who could have known that at the bottom of the pit he would find himself atop a castle of another sort altogether?

The Fall of Troy – Part 5

Troy woke up slowly, stinking, sweaty and wet. He couldn’t be sure, but he thought he might have pissed himself on the couch in the night–he knew that should disgust him, but all it did was make him feel surprisingly horny. He sat up, groping at his hard cock, and found Leo sitting in a chair off to the side of the couch, his eyes glowing white. Not the flashes from before–a steady, constant white, and Troy felt his old self pushing up through the filth. He wanted to fight, he wanted to go take a thousand showers, but something held him there on the couch, pinning him there while Leo smiled and said, “Good morning, son–how are you doing today?”

“Fuck you, Leo. Fuck…” but he didn’t know what else to say.

“I just thought it might be nice for the two of us to talk today, father and son–you know, about your place in this household going forward. You see, Troy, I can only push you down so far, and you have a strong mind. Letting you out for air on occasion helps me keep you under control, but it just wouldn’t be a sustainable solution in the long run. So you see, that really leaves us with two choices here, a choice you’re going to have to make.”

“How in the hell can I believe anything you say?”

“Well, you probably can’t. But if you really want to keep this mind of yours, if you want to start the long, arduous climb back out of this pit of filth I’ve thrown you down into, you can do that. But not here–not under my roof. If that’s what you want, then you’re on your own–we’ll drive into the city, and I’ll leave you on the streets with no memory of where you lived, of who I am, or who your step-mother is, and you can try to make it on your own. I mean, as well as a fat slob like you with no money or resources can make it. I don’t think you’ll get very far on your own, to be honest, but that’s a choice you can make.”

“That’s not a fucking choice! What the fuck are you even talking about?”

“Well, the other option is that you stay–and you fall completely. You lose the will to fight, you accept this, and you keep falling. You see, I made a few changes to the basement last night. The main room? That’s a massive sex dungeon, wired up with all sorts of cameras so you can broadcast your filth to the internet. Because if you stay here, you’re going to have to pay rent, you know. You’re going to have to sell that fat, disgusting body if you want to stay here, but I have all the confidence that you can do it, and I might have a few contacts to help you out, if you ask nicely. But you’ll love your life, because you–this old Troy–won’t ever come back. You’ll just be a dumb stinking slob, falling deeper and deeper into your own perversions for the rest of your life. That’s the other choice you have–compared to that, well, maybe a life on the city streets doesn’t sound so bad, eh?”

Troy just stared at him, anger and fury boiling in him, “Fuck you, I can make it. Dump me in the city if you want, I don’t fucking care, anything to be away from you.”

Leo shrugged, “Alright then–get dressed, and let’s get in the car.”

They drove to the city in silence, but as they did, Troy felt doubt start to creep in. He wouldn’t have any money, just the clothes on his back and his wits. But worse, he’d still be saddled with this body. He was halfway there before he realized he still had the dildo in his ass, and that he didn’t want to take it out. That he still was hornier than ever, that he could smell the piss in his clothes, and all he wanted to do was taste it, suck it out, and piss in them some more. He had his mind, and yet this body still wanted everything Leo had forced on him. He smoked a cigar as they drove–it helped calm him down, but he couldn’t even stop that. What in the hell was he going to do?

Leo drove around and eventually pulled up in a well worn industrial district. The sidewalk was empty, and he put the car in park, the engine still running. “Alright son,” he said, “Here’s your stop. I’ll miss you, but not really that much.”

Troy stared at the sidewalk out the window for a few moments, before he muttered, “I…I can’t do this.”

“What was that?”

“I can’t do this. I can’t…not like this. What the fuck am I supposed to do? How the fuck could I get a job? Where the fuck would I even go?”

“That’s not my problem, that’s yours. You made your choice, Troy, now get out.”

Troy looked at him, “Please, don’t do this to me, please don’t make me do this,” he said, but that smirk on Leo’s face–he’d known. He’d known Troy was never going to get out of the car, not willingly. “Please, just…I’ll do whatever you want–be whoever you want. Just let me come home.”

“Fine,” Leo said, “But I did give you a choice, remember,” he pulled his cock out of his jeans, “Now suck me off, you got me all horny with that misery of yours.”

What choice did he have? Troy sucked his father off the whole way home, trying not to enjoy it as much as he was, and trying not to think about what would happen when they got home. Leo led him down into the basement, and gave him a tour of his new rooms. The sling and the rimseat. The cameras everywhere, including his filthy bathroom. His closet full of leather and rubber, almost all of it in yellow and brown. The bed covered in rubber sheets. He wanted Troy to know what he was going to become, before it happened, and then Leo’s eyes went dark, and then black, but not black like before. Not a forceful black–the black of an abyss. A pit you can’t help but stare into. A pit deep enough to lose yourself and not even notice. He gave a snort, and fell in, deeper and deeper into Leo, into himself, and he knew he would never make his way out of it again.

The Fall of Troy (Part 4)

***WARNING*** Still somewhat filthy.

He didn’t have to look far; Leo was waiting for him in the living room, wearing only a pair of boxers. He smiled when he saw Troy emerge from the basement stairs, give his asscrack a scratch with his full hand, and then give them a sniff. “Hey dad, ya got anything to eat?”

“Well, I’m not cooking, but the fridge and pantry are pretty packed. You feelin’ better after some private time?”

Troy grinned, “Fuck dad, you know I love my time on the shitter. Still, I hungry as fuck, I’m gonna find something to eat.”

“Well hold on,” Leo said, and hefted himself up off the couch, “Before you do that, I got something to ask you.” He walked over, blinked, his eyes flashing brightly for a moment, leaving spots in Troy’s vision, “What do you think of yourself now, piggy?”

The stench.

His stench.

He gagged. Leo was laughing at him, and he barely managed to keep himself from vomiting. “Oh fuck, oh fuck, what the fuck did you do, you fucker?”

“You think I didn’t hear you, every time you called me a slob? You think I didn’t see you grimace every time I let loose a fart or a belch? You think I couldn’t feel your disgust? Well son, good to know I’m not the filthiest one in this house anymore–I think that title has passed to you.”

He had to fix this, he had to do something, but it was overwhelming. His hands were trembling, he had to calm down. He pushed past Leo and hurried to the living room table, where he grabbed a cigar, and lit it, but it wasn’t enough, so he chugged a warm beer, dulling the edge of his anxiety, but that only made things worse. Why had he done that? He could have run and taken a shower. He could have punched Leo in the face. Instead…instead he’d gotten a drink and smoke, but…but why wouldn’t he do that? “Please…please, I don’t…just change me back, I’ll do anything. If you want me to leave, I’ll leave. You’ll never see me again, I promise.”

“Oh Troy, but where in the world would you go? You’re too stupid to hold down a job, not to mention no one would hire someone as filthy as you. No, I think you’re stuck living with your dad and stepmom for a good while longer I think.”

Dad and Stepmom? “No…No, that’s not right…you’re my stepdad…”

“Well, I was your stepdad,” Leo said, “But after that little session of yours, with all that DNA of mine…well, I think your paternity might have gone and switched.”

“No, I have a dad, a different dad…” Leo said, but he couldn’t dredge a face from his memory. It was just Leo, always Leo. “No, you can’t do this, I won’t just give in this time, I’ll fucking fight you.” He put out the cigar in the ashtray, but immediately regretted it. He needed it. He needed smoke, fuck, what the fuck did he even do that for? He fought the urge, but it was painful. Leo laughed some more, turned, and started walking away.

“Heh, suit yourself, son, but your dad here has to take a shit and a piss–I’ll go ahead and leave the door open in case you want to join me–you know, like you usually do.”

He winked, and Troy’s mind filled in the blanks. How he worshiped his father’s body while he sat on the toilet, how he drank his piss, licked his fat body clean, sucked on his feet…He shook his head, trying to clear his mind, but he couldn’t quite get his hand out of his piss soaked briefs, couldn’t quite stop stroking his cock. He had to think, he had to figure out a way out of this, but how was he going to do that? He was a fucking dunce after all. Fuck, he could barely read, much less right, much less think. Thinking was fucking hard, thinking ‘bout his cock was easy though. Thinkin’ ‘bout his dad, sittin’ on the toilet, gettin’ ready to shit…He licked his lips, heard himself say, “Hold on dad, I’m…I’m comin’,” and he started after him.

He wasn’t really going to do this, was he?

Leo was already sitting on the toilet. “Fuck son, you almost missed it. Hurry up ‘n get down here, if you want to watch.”

He got down on his knees, and stuck his head down between his dad’s thighs and down into the bowl as far as he could, the bottom of his beard dragging into the water, his dad’s balls resting on his head. A loud fart, and the shit started coming out. It was so rank he could almost taste it. Something warm and wet hit the back of his head–Leo was pissing, arcing it up in a stream and back down onto Troy’s head and neck, and then he aimed it further out, soaking his son’s back, listening to the pig grunt and moan as he tugged on his cock in front of the toilet. Done shitting, he put legs up on Troy’s shoulders, rolling his ass forward, and his pig son, resistance forgotten, dove in and started licking and sucking at his shithole, cleaning him up, before licking at Leo’s balls and finally swallowing his cock. Leo had saved some piss–he fed it right into Troy’s mouth, and chased it with a blast of cum, and then he swung his legs off and stood up.

“I got some errands to run, pig–I’ll probably be back late. Make sure you clean up in here when you’re finished–I don’t want it looking like the sty you have going downstairs in here.”

Troy was only half listening–he had his face shoved in the bowl, his hand jacking at rapid pace, and he he finally shot across the base of the toilet. Leo shook his head went and got dressed and headed out. Troy stayed in the bathroom for a while longer, cleaning up–licking the piss off the floor and the toilet seat, making sure he got his cum off the toilet base, and finally, with a bit of regret, he flushed the toilet–at least he had his stash downstairs if he felt the need for some more private time, but now, it was time to eat.

The rest of the evening was spent watching porn on TV, making frequent trips to and from the fridge and the pantry. By the time Leo returned, carrying bags and boxes in from his truck, Troy was passed out, dildo shoved in his hole, deep asleep. One more day, Leo thought to himself, and started hauling things down into the basement. Of course, it would be Troy’s choice whether he’d fall the rest of the way, but Leo had a feeling his son would see things his way more likely than not.