Tag: incest

Identity Crises (Part 1)

Commissioned by Scot158f

Down in the den, Terry heard the front door open, and his son Caleb call out, “Dad! I’m home!”

“Hey Caleb,” he called back, “I’m down in the den,” His son appeared at the top of the stairs in the kitchen with his backpack, looking down at his dad lounging in his recliner, relaxing on his Saturday. “How was the mall?”

“Oh, good–you know, just hanging out with some friends…nothing too big.”

“Sounds good. You want dinner soon? I can order some pizza or something.”

“Nah, I’m not really hungry right now. I’m gonna go upstairs for a bit.”

Terry raised an eyebrow and shrugged, but Caleb didn’t see–he had already bounded off and up the stairs to his bedroom, and Terry knew something was up. Caleb was always hungry–hell, the kid was fat, though Terry wasn’t exactly one to talk–he was plenty big himself, and only seemed to get bigger these days. He sighed, knowing that the pretty constant diet of pizza and soda was the main culprit for them both–he’d never been a very good cook, and ever since Fran had left–

No, he didn’t want to think about that right now. The wounds were still a bit too fresh, even after all these years, when she’d run off with some other man and left him alone with Caleb. It had been hard, raising a teenager all by himself, but he was a good kid–still, Terry knew his son was lying about something. He didn’t have any friends for one thing, or at least no friends Terry had seen over at their house, and he knew Caleb hated the mall. He’d obviously been out somewhere, but where, and with who? His son was keeping secrets, and Terry wasn’t sure whether to try and pry them away, or let Caleb have his private life. He was seventeen after all–old enough that he could make his own mistakes, but Terry still worried about him–how could he not? Dads worried about their sons–it was natural. Still, he needed to talk to Caleb about something else too, he just wasn’t sure how to broach the subject yet, which made it worse.

A couple weeks earlier, while he’d been digging through Caleb’s clothes, putting together a load of laundry, he’d jostled his son’s computer by accident, and seen that Caleb had left it on–and the site on the screen had shocked him a bit. He’d expected his son to have discovered porn by now–hell, he’d had quite the stash of pilfered magazines by the time he was seventeen, but the site wasn’t what he’d expected, and it had taken him some research one night to understand what exactly gay bears were, and what a chub was.

Now Terry didn’t have any real problem with his son being gay–he didn’t understand it, that was for sure, but he was still going to love him just the same. Mostly, he wanted to make sure that Caleb knew that he could talk to him about anything–and the fact that Caleb hadn’t talked to him about it at all worried him more than anything. But how exactly was he supposed to broach the subject now? “Hey son, I accidentally got a look at the porn sites you’ve been looking at–funny how the guys you’re jacking off to kind of look like your dad, eh?” For some reason, he didn’t think that would go over very well with his teenage son.

The show he was watching came to an end, and he decided that even if Caleb wasn’t hungry, he was–so he was going to go ask him what he’d like for dinner. He hefted himself up the first flight of stairs and into the kitchen, angry that he’d let himself go. He’d been quite the looker back in the day, but since Fran had left, he’d slacked off big time. He was afraid to weigh himself, but the last time he’d gone to the doctor, he’d been nearly three hundred pounds, and he was fairly certain that he’d gone past that point of no return by now, and unlike his son, he didn’t really find being this size all that attractive. He hefted himself up the second flight to the bedrooms and down the hall to his son’s room at the end, where the door was shut. He gave it a knock, and immediately his son called out, a bit panicked, “Hang on a sec!”

Terry rolled his eyes–great, and now he’d probably interrupted him masturbating. He gave him a few seconds to get himself together and change the screen, and then opened the door–only to run right smack into–something. It was the strangest sensation, like he was at the ocean, and a massive wave was rolling over and through him, but while he felt the pressure of it, it didn’t push him back–it just folded itself around him, and for a second he was encased in something that felt like a crush of air, but it wasn’t air–it was like reality itself was bending around him, pulling him into it, and then it eased away, leaving him trying to catch his breath right inside his son’s room. Only an instant had passed, the amount of time it took him to open the door and step into the room, but it had felt like ages. He blinked a few times, sorting himself out, and then looked up and saw his son at his computer.

No, it wasn’t his son, it was a stranger. No, it was his son, of course it was his son, it was just, his son didn’t look like his son…should? His head hurt, like he had too many brains trying to occupy the same space, and he let out a grunt. No, it was his son–of course it was. Why had he thought otherwise? He just felt so…weird, all of a sudden. He looked over at where his son sat at the computer wearing a tanktop and boxers like he always did, but even though he knew it was his son, it was almost like he was looking at someone completely new. In his memory, he almost remembered his son as being pudgy, probably over two hundred and fifty pounds, well on his way to where he was at three hundred, but now…well, his son was still chubby, sure, but most of the mass packed on his frame was muscle. He almost had the look of a power lifter, thick arms and legs with a tight gut, but on top of that, his son was hairy. Terry was relatively smooth himself–he couldn’t even grow a very good beard–but his son, well, hirsute was nearly an understatement. His arms were covered all the way down to his palms, he had a thicket emerging from the top of his low collar, which crawled up his neck to join the thick, half inch long beard covering his face. When Caleb reached up to scratch his armpit, he saw it was equally dense there as well. It took him a second to break his gaze, when he finally realized that his son was talking to him.

“Dad? Hey, you alright?”

Terry shook his head, still trying to sort everything out, but his head seemed to be settling down a bit. “yeah, yeah–sorry, I guess I just, uh, spaced out there for a second. Um, I…what did I come up here for?”

He scratched his head, but couldn’t remember. He’d been down in the den, thinking about…about that bear site he’d found…but he hadn’t actually come up here to talk about that, had he? There had to have been something else…but he supposed there was no time like the present. “Look, do you have a few minutes, Caleb? There’s something I’ve been meaning to talk to you about.”

“Sure dad, what is it?” Caleb asked, spinning his chair around to where his dad took a seat on his bed, and Terry saw that something else was new too–his son’s crotch was bulging–hell, the gaps in his buttoned boxers were straining to hold it in, and for some reason, Terry couldn’t take his eyes off it…and his cock was getting hard. He shook his head–what was he doing? His son was hot, sure, but that was just wrong. “Look, I was in here the other day, picking up your gym clothes for the laundry, when I accidentally knocked your computer. You’d left it on, but the screen lit up, and I saw…well…I saw the kind of porn you were looking at, son, and I just wanted you to know that I love you no matter what, and if you want to talk about it, I’m here, alright?”

He’d expected his son to blush, or yell at him, or run from the room, but what he didn’t expect was Caleb to raise one eyebrow and smirk a bit, “Talk about what? That I’m gay? Dad, you’ve known I was gay for years–I told you when I was thirteen.”

“Yeah, I know, but…wait…” Terry said, “I…no you didn’t…”

“Yeah I did. You were downstairs, and I came home, and I told you in a rush, and then you told me you were gay too–as for bears, hell, most of the sites I browse I got from you anyway,” he said with a smile, and Terry just gaped at him.

But it was true, it was all true. How could he have forgotten that? Still everything his son had just said, it just felt so…wrong. He wasn’t gay, he’d always liked girls, but then why was it that the only porn he could remember looking at all these years was men–bears and chubs in particular. Hell, no wonder he was so attracted to his son–he was fucking handsome as fuck, but he couldn’t cross that line–he knew that.

“Are you sure there wasn’t something else you wanted to talk to me about, dad?” Caleb asked, leaning back, one hand drifting down and squeezing his crotch, “You haven’t taken your eyes off it since you sat down you know.”

“Caleb, look, you know how I feel, but I’m your dad, alright? I just…I came up to ask you what you wanted for dinner.”

“Fuck dinner,” Caleb said, and leaned forward, giving Terry a deep kiss, pushing his dad over and climbing onto him, pinning his hands to the mattress as they kissed. Terry fought him for a moment or two, then just sighed and enjoyed the feeling of his son kissing him, of his son’s beard on his own stubbly cheeks, and he ground his crotch against Caleb’s, and he was so fucking horny he could barely stand it. “Fuck dad, I’ve wanted you for so fucking long, I can’t wait anymore,” Caleb said, pulling away, reaching down the front of his dad’s boxers and pulling out his cock, “Now I want a taste of this cock of yours.”

“Caleb, no–we can’t…” Terry started to say, but his protests dissolved into groans as soon as his son swallowed his cock to the hilt in one fell swoop, and he struggled to keep up with what was going on. He’d just come up to ask about dinner, hadn’t he? Or had he come up because he’d finally decided to go all the way with his son? Had he always been gay, and if he had, then what about Fran? The name was there, and yet all of the memories which should have been attached to it weren’t. Fran was just some hooker he’d had sex with on a drunken dare, and when Caleb had been left on his doorstep all those years ago, he’d raised him happily. He was thankful his son was gay too, actually–plus he’d apparently been practicing, because he was giving Terry one of the best blowjobs he’d ever gotten…but still, this was wrong. It almost hurt him physically to do it, but he pushed his son away and crawled back up the bed away from him. “Caleb, I can’t we just can’t–it’s wrong, ok?” He saw the hurt in his son’s eyes, and turned away and left the room without another word, shutting himself in his bedroom, and trying to put his thoughts back together.

Everything was a jumble, and it had all started when he’d stepped into Caleb’s room, and that strange—wave had hit him. He couldn’t quite remember it happening, it felt like it was right at the edge, like a dream that desperately wanted to fade, but the more he clung to it, the more real it felt. He began to feel like that memory, that wave, was a wall, a wall of glass that he couldn’t budge, no matter how hard he fought it, but if he tried hard enough, and looked long enough, he could see bits beyond it, still hanging in the blackness. Fran was one thing, and his old son’s fat frame was another, and his heterosexuality, and yet they all felt imagined, like they simply couldn’t possibly be real. He sat down on his bed, cradling his head in his hands, ashamed that he’d lost control like that. He’d told himself many times that he wouldn’t do it, even if Caleb asked him to, and he’d broken that promise–how could he have done that? He sighed, not wanting to leave the room and confront it, but he had to–but it could wait until his hardon went away, he thought, blushing.

He sat there for a few more minutes, trying to relax and think about what he was going to say, when there came a knock on his door. “Hey dad? Are you in there? Can we talk?”

Terry covered himself up, and said, “Yeah Caleb, come on in.”

The door opened, and as soon as it did, he saw the wave come rushing towards him–it pushed it’s way across the room, the walls almost bending out from the force of it, and then it hit him again, engulfing him once more, but this time it worked…faster. Like it knew him, knew what to expect, what sort of defenses he had, and before he could even really register what had happened it was gone, and there his son was, standing in the doorway, buck naked. He strode into Terry’s room, ducking and turning to the side since he was a little too wide to go through them normally, and smirked, “Well dad, my birthday’s finally here–that was the deal, wasn’t it?”

Terry didn’t know what his son was talking about for a second, but as soon as he started trying to figure it out, the memory was there, like it had been all along. At thirteen, when his son had first come out him, when he’d first tried to convince his dad to have sex with him, Terry had made him promise that he wouldn’t ask again, but that when he turned eighteen, if he still wanted to, well, then Terry would be all for it. He couldn’t believe he’d actually agreed to something like that, but looking back, he’d known his son was going to be one hot piece of bear beef by the time he came of age–why wouldn’t he make a promise like that? Hell, at fifteen, Caleb had had a full beard going, though it had taken him a few more years to rival his dad’s, Terry thought, stroking his beard which had grown down to his chest. In the back of his head, he thought that he shouldn’t be this hairy–that he’d been smooth just seconds before, but he’d been growing his beard ever since he’d gotten his first whiskers…right?

“Yeah, that was the deal. And from that hard on of yours, I think I know what you’re looking for,” Terry said, stroking his own cock.

Caleb didn’t reply, he just strode over and started kissing his dad, running his massive hands through his thickly furred chest, their beards tangling together as they made out roughly. Caleb ran his hands over his dad’s muscular body, and something about it just felt wrong–not the fact that he was about to have sex with his son–he’d wanted that for years now–but his body. It just didn’t feel…right. In his minds eye, for some reason, he kept picturing himself as being fat, and over three hundred pounds. Well, he did weight over three hundred pounds, but most of that was muscle, like Caleb. Hell, the two of them spent tons of time working out together, smelling each other’s musky sweat, jacking off together on the benches, fantasizing about Caleb’s eighteenth birthday, which was finally–finally here…he’d waited so long for this, the last few months had been torture for them both, but now they were together, and Terry didn’t think that would be changing for a long time.

Caleb wrapped his hand around Terry’s thick, long cock–nine inches long and nearly the thickness of a beer can with a thick foreskin. His head was already wet with precum, and he growled, “Don’t just play with it boy, swallow that fucking cock–taste the seed that made you.”

“I thought you’d never fucking ask,” Caleb said, got down and started sucking on his dad’s cock, like he had a few minutes earlier…or had he? Whatever, it didn’t matter. Terry wrapped both hands around his son’s head and started fucking his face, grunting, Caleb taking all nine inches down his throat without a single gag. Fuck, his son was such a hot lay, they were going to have to do more of this…in fact, Terry thought, it might be easier for the two of them to just share a bed from now on, and then the two of them can fuck all night long.

Caleb broke his dad’s grip and pulled up, smirking, precum clinging to his beard, “Not yet dad, I want to feel this cock of yours deep in my ass.”

“Oh fuck son, are you sure? I got a damn big tool for your first time.”

“First time? Come on dad, I’ve had half the football  team’s cocks up my ass, and I’ve fucked even more of them back. Did you really think I was going to go into my birthday without a little experience under my belt? Hell, most of the guys can’t wait until the party tomorrow–I hope you’re ready for a massive fucking orgy.”

“Aww shit boy, that sounds fucking fantastic–you know how much I love those hot teammates of yours. Well go on then, climb up here–I want to see you plow yourself on my fuckstick.”

Caleb climbed up on the bed, the mattress sagging under their combined weight, and Terry figured that he was going to have to get a new mattress for both of them this week. A bit gingerly, Caleb squatted down and started working his dad’s cock into his ass, and Terry did his best to resist the urge to grab his son’s hips and ram his cock home in one pound. Still, Caleb did good–he had had some practice, and before too long he was bouncing up and down on his dad’s cock, both of them groaning and grunting together, and Terry started working one of his big fingers under his son’s own massive foreskin, watching his boy shiver in pleasure. He started stroking it then, and Caleb didn’t last more than a minute, shooting a massive load of cum up and down his dad’s hairy chest and face, before Terry gave a roar and unloaded into his son’s ass.

Caleb collapsed onto him, the two of them rubbing Caleb’s cum between them, Terry’s cock slowly slipping out of his son’s hole as they kissed. “Happy birthday, son,” Terry whispered.

“Thanks dad, it’s the best present I’ve ever gotten.”

Terry laughed, “well just wait until you see what I’m getting you for Christmas,” he said, smirking, “You’re gonna be sore for weeks.”

Caleb laughed too, and then groaned as Terry’s cock finally popped out of his hole, his cum seeping out after it.

“Well, how about the two of us hit the shower, and then go make some dinner?” Terry said, “We’re pretty ripe after that, I gotta say.”

“Heh, I kind of like it,” Caleb said, burying his nose in his dad’s pit and taking a whiff, “Like how you smell after a hard workout.”

“Ha, you mean how I reek?” Terry said, “Come on, let’s get cleaned up.”

“No, come on, later–it’s my birthday after all.”

Terry rolled his eyes, “Oh alright, if you want me stinking like a bathhouse than so be it. I’m going to go make dinner anyway, are you coming?”

In a second–I think I have do some work in my room first,” Caleb said coyly, and got up off his dad, “I’ll be downstairs in a few minutes.”

“Alright,” Terry said, a bit puzzled, but the two of them went their separate ways in the hallway, and he headed downstairs and into the kitchen, where he opened the cabinets, and perplexed, realizing that there wasn’t much in there to eat. That was odd, since he and Caleb had to eat pretty much non-stop, day and night, in order to keep their bodies putting on weight. The sudden shock was enough to make him think back on the other strange things that had been going on since Caleb had come home from the mall, and now this? He could still remember himself down in the den, an obese, middle aged man, not this massive, muscular bear he was now. And how his son had tried to seduce him, but that wasn’t right, since they’d had sex moments later for his birthday present. Nothing seemed to line up at all, almost like he’d been stepping into different dimensions where everything was a bit different each time. Still, he was starving, so he went to the stairs and shouted up, “Hey Caleb–we’re, uh, out of food? I think we should go out, and maybe go for a shopping run after.”

He didn’t hear anything for a few moments, and then Caleb shouted back, “Uh…alright. Hmm…I’ll be down in a second.”

Terry went back into the kitchen, and stared at the empty cabinets again. Was it really all that strange? He didn’t really cook all that much, after all, but on the other hand, he knew he and his son were on a massive diet to make sure they kept packing on muscle. Nothing was making sense, or lining up quite right, almost as if he was looking at some other kitchen that wasn’t actually his.

The wave struck him from behind this time, but this time he almost welcomed it–it was a familiar sensation now, reality pressing in around him, propelling him forward, and when his head caught up to him, he was at the stove juggling the massive amount of food that he was cooking, and he looked over his shoulder at his son in the doorway–his massive, butch boy–fuck, he was so sexy with that massive pelt of hair, and that big firm gut of his. “Sorry Caleb, dinner’s not for a few more minutes. Go ahead and have a seat, and you can snack on the bread I baked earlier.”

“Sounds good dad,” Caleb said, ripping off a thick chunk of one of the baguettes Terry had baked earlier, and grinned, “Fuck it’s nice having a gourmet chef for a dad–have I ever told you that?”

“Only once or twice a day…” Terry said, and then stopped stirring his sauce for a second. Something still seemed off, but everything his son had said was right…wasn’t it? He was a chef, after all, and he had the nicest, and biggest, kitchen in the entire neighborhood, and he loved feeding both his son and himself. That’s when he actually bothered to look down, and saw that the muscled, strongman physique he’d been expected wasn’t there–instead, he just saw flab–pounds and heaps of it, a massive, smooth apron hanging down past his crotch, two huge moobs sagging there as well with massive nipples. He was naked, of course–he always cooked in the buff at home, where his son could watch him and admire him. He loved having a fat ass chef for a dad, almost as much as Terry loved being a fat ass chef, and yet…had he always looked like this?

As he worked, something about this just didn’t sit right with Terry, almost as though he wasn’t quite used to the size of his belly, but he avoided doing anything disastrous–even though he did get close to burning his moobs on some steam when he leaned over too far. He kept checking back, admiring his son, who’d already plowed his way through half the bread Terry had set out, and then he started laying out the spread. All of his son’s meals were carb and protein heavy–everything a growing boy could ever need to keep up his physique, and Caleb tore into the feast that could have easily fed ten or twelve people, including a roasted turkey Terry pulled from the oven…even though he couldn’t quite recall ever stuffing it and setting it in there to cook. Still, all the food was finally out and on the table, and Terry joined in the meal, neither of them talking, but as they ate, they kept stealing glances at each other, and Terry soon realized that gorging on his meal–and watching his son stuff himself, was turning him on big time.

“Hey dad,” Caleb said, “Could you pass the gravy?” Caleb asked, and Terry grinned. He had a better idea.

He picked up the massive gravy boat and instead of passing it, started pouring the thick sauce over his own body. “If you want it, why don’t you come over here and get it?”

Caleb didn’t need any more encouragement than that, and he tackled his father to the ground, licking him clean as Terry moaned, but that couldn’t pull them away from the table for long. Pretty soon, the two were simply standing next to the table, shoving food into each other’s gaping mouths, both of them covered in food, before long, but for some reason, Terry just couldn’t get over how amazing his son smelled–musky and sweaty, like he hadn’t showered in a few days, and he spent a lot of time licking his son’s armpits clear in between bites.

“Oh fuck son, you’re so goddamn ripe, I love that.”

“I know dad–you’re the one who asked me to stop showering. I’m good with that as long as you keep me clean.”

“Fuck yeah son, I’ll lick your salty pits and ass clean any day, you know that.”

Caleb couldn’t hold off anymore, and he pushed his dad face down on the table, lubed his cock with some spit and started fucking his dad’s ass with his ten inch cock, watching the fat ripple and jiggle, but Terry simply couldn’t stop eating. On one hand, he could never remember being this hungry ever in his life, but on another–this was what he and his son did, wasn’t it? Three massive meals a day? Hell, he was almost never out of the kitchen with the way they ate, but he loved cooking as much as he loved eating–but not as much as he loved having his son fuck his fat ass. He realized that he was getting close too, his fat apron massaging his two inch cock which he couldn’t even reach anymore, but it was enough for him to cum with a violent shudder, groaning through a mouthful of food, feeling the massive load from his big balls dribble down between his fat thighs. “Are you ready for dessert, dad?” Caleb said, panting.

“Oh fuck yeah, give it to me son,” Terry said, and Caleb pulled out, stroking his cock quick as his dad got down on his knees in front of him, and then he shot, covering his dad with another load…wait, another load? They hadn’t fucked earlier, Terry though, he’d been cooking all afternoon, and Terry knows better than to fuck which he’s cooking…but he could dimly remember fucking his son’s ass…hadn’t he? But how? His cock was too small to fuck anything–it was a good thing Terry was a power bottom, or he would have hated it. Whatever, it didn’t matter, he figured, as he scooped up his son’s massive load and shoveled it into his mouth, Caleb getting down to lick up some that he fed to his dad through some kisses. One hand snuck between his dad’s fat legs and probed his open hole with a few semen slick fingers, listening to the fat man moan and beg. “Fist me, fucking shove it all in there son,” Terry begged.

Caleb smiled, and slipped his fist in easy, Terry widening his stance as Caleb started milking his prostate, and after a couple of minutes, Terry gave another shudder and shot another load, this one dribbling down and puddling on the floor below him. “Damn dad, you have such a slutty hole.”

“Ha, only for my boy, you know that,” Terry said, kissing him, clenching on his son’s fist for a few more moments, before allowing him to pull it out. Caleb helped his dad stand shakily, and the two of them surveyed the table, finding a few bits and pieces they hadn’t finished off, but they’d eaten pretty much everything in sight, like usual.

“Alright dad, I’ll get the kitchen cleaned up–why don’t you head down to the den and relax?” Caleb said.

“Sounds good to me,” Terry said, stretching, “I need to get off my feet for a bit anyway,” he gave his son a kiss as he cleared the table, and then hobbled down the steps, careful not to trip, and settled down into his recliner, kneading his full belly and moobs a bit as he watched the food channel, trying not to drool at the food they were showing. As he sat and watched, however, doubts were beginning to creep in, which the meal and cooking had kept at bay. He was a gourmet chef, his head and memories told him that…but he couldn’t remember ever working in a restaurant, or even getting training. Just, as far back as he could remember, he’d been cooking these huge meals for his son, helping him grow big and strong…and that was good, right? But…what about that memory of him fucking his son that he’d had earlier? And…

His head was hurting again, and it felt like too many things were vying for the privilege of existing. It was better just to focus on the here and now. He’d just had a fabulous dinner with his son after all, and a real good fucking. He could relax for a bit, and start thinking about what he was going to make for breakfast. Fuck, he loved breakfast–maybe pancakes. His stomach gave a growl, and he jiggled it happily, loving the sensation of his massive body, like always. He couldn’t imagine ever not being fat…right? But hadn’t…hadn’t he worked out with his son before? No, that couldn’t be right, he’d never lifted a weight in his life. He wasn’t even sure how to do it. And he knew for sure he’d never fucked Caleb–sure, Caleb had sucked him off before, a couple of times, but in the end Terry always preferred a rough fuck from his son’s massive cock–it was just so much hotter and better–and required a lot less effort on his part. Hell, he had a hard enough time getting up the stairs, how would he ever have the energy to fuck his son?

And yet…and yet, hadn’t he laid back on his bed, his son on his big cock, both of them a bit smaller than before, and more muscular…and hairier…

Maybe it was just a dream–that seemed like the most reasonable possibility. He could hear Caleb working in the kitchen, but then he stopped suddenly and headed upstairs for a few minutes. Terry wasn’t sure what he was doing up there, but when he heard him coming back down the stairs, he sounded…bigger. Or at least heavier than usual, which was strange. From where he was sitting in his recliner, he looked up, curious, but before he could get a good look, another wave washed over him as soon as his son turned the corner at the top of the stairs.

Wait, his son? No, not his son, that was silly, that was his daddy at the top of the stairs…wasn’t it?

To be Continued

Serving the Cloth

Ty pulled his car into the driveway, still trying to wrap his head around what had just happened to him at the store. It had just been a regular grocery store, and yet, when he’d gone back to pick up some more cleaning equipment–everything was gone. The shelves were simply empty, and when he’d asked an employee what was going on, they hadn’t even been able to give him a straight answer. He’d left the building in a huff, but as soon as he had, a short elderly man with a beard running down to the pavement had stopped him and shoved a spray bottle into his hand.

“Here boy,” the man said with a chuckle, “You’re going to need something extra-strength to deal with that house you’re trying to clean up!” Before Ty could even say anything, the man had run off, laughing. He must have just been a crazy guy–but every store he’d been to after that had been just as empty as the first. It seemed that no one in town had any cleaning equipment–well, aside from the bottle of “Clean-All” the old man had given him. Annoyed, he climbed out of the car and went up to the front door of the house he and his dad were cleaning after their lessee had skipped out on them, and went inside.

“Dad! I’m back. You’re not going to believe this–I went all over town and no one had anything! How crazy is that?”

“Pretty…pretty damn crazy. Son…Son, get in here, I got…we got something you need to do. I’m in the living room.”

Ty walked into the next room, taking the bottle of Clean-All with him, turned the corner, and froze when he say his dad sitting on the chair, a half-smoked cigar clamped in his maw, wearing a filthy yellow jockstrap he was certain he’d thrown out, along with a black muscle shirt and denim vest. “Dad–what the fuck are you doing? Is this supposed to be some kind of joke?”

“Son–I need you to…to get over here, and lick…lick up all the piss–all the fuckin’ piss!” Mick said, laughing then, and he stood up, “Gonna make you fucking lick it up, son. Gonna…Gonna turn you intah mah little pigcunt!”

Mick charged Ty, tackling him to the ground. He went down hard, scattering a pile of trash all over the floor as he landed, the spray bottle skittering from his hand, and then his dad was on him, pinning his son’s arms to his sides with his piss damp thighs, grabbing the back of his head and shoving him face first into the filthy jock he was wearing. “Dad! Dad, what are you doing, let me go!”

“Now now, jus’ calm down son, it’ll all be alright soon, we…we have it all planned out, don’t you worry, we have it all planned out.”

Ty tried to fight back, but when he opened his mouth to fight–the jock wiggled and then shoved its way into his mouth like it was alive, and as he tasted the rank piss, musk and cum of the jock, he felt–and heard–a voice. A strong, powerful will assaulting his mind, telling him to suck on it, to lick it to worship it. To crawl over, snorting and grunting, and lick up all his Pa’s piss while his Pa fucked his fat–fat piggy hole, how hot it was gonna be, servin’ his Pa, ‘n cleanin’ his filthy body, ‘n wearin’ all these fuckin’…fuckin’ filthy clothes. They needed to be worn, he could hear them, and he would, he’d wear them all he’d wear them–

With a scream, Ty managed to block out the voice for a second, long enough to put his hands up on his dad’s back and shove himself underneath him, disgusted as his nose squeezed past his dad’s reeking taint, but he was free, and he rolled over onto his hands and knees, grabbed the closest thing to him as a weapon, and stood up.

The spray bottle. He’d grabbed the fucking bottle of Clean-All–what fucking good was that going to do? Still, it was better than nothing, and he held it out as his dad stood up, laughing. “Slippery little pig–not gonna matter. Gonna rape ya little pig, gonna rape yer hole till ya like it, we’re gonna wear ya little pig, we’re gonna wear ya, ‘n wear ya out!”

His dad charged him again, and Ty squeezed the trigger, a cloud of spray slamming into his dad, who screamed in pain and stumbled back. As Ty watched, he saw the shirt and vest he was wearing writhe in agony, before they dissolved into some sort of goop on the ground, and his dad looked clean–normal–or at least the top half did. In a panic, Mick grabbed the jockstrap and clambored out of it, wadding it up and hurling it across the room, where it slammed into the wall, landed on the floor, and…stood up.

Ty couldn’t believe what he was seeing, and then he noticed that the whole room was shuffling–all of the clothing was climbing out of bags, and then they swarmed. Ty was able to keep them back from him and his father for a few moments, long enough for Mick to stand up, and then they were rushing through the house, a horde of filthy clothing pursuing them, and a few seconds too late–Ty realized they were actually herding them deeper into the house. A grungy flannel shirt opened the basement door, and the clothes surged forward, shoving Mick and Ty into the doorway, sending them tumbling down the stairs and into the darkness below.

Neither of them had been down into the rental’s basement yet–they’d been too afraid. Mick quickly untangled himself from his son and stood up–his head bonking the chain attached to the single light. Thankful he’d found that at least, he reached up and clicked it–light flooding the basement–or what had been a basement. Now, well, he didn’t know what their lessee had been up to, but the room looked more like a dungeon more than anything else. In the room, he saw a sling and some sort of wooden cross, and the walls were lined with all sorts of paddles, dildos, whips, and then he saw it. The mass of leather and metal coalescing in one corner of the room–there was so much of it. He watched as the mass stood up–a seven foot tall golem of leather and chain which stalked toward them. “Ty! Look out!” Mick shouted, but one thick arm swung out, extending as it flew and slammed into Mick, throwing him back against one of the concrete walls if the room, before wrapping itself around his son and dragging him into the mass.

“No!” Mick shouted, and crawled up, his head spinning. He had to find the bottle his son had used, he looked around the room, saw it lying below the stairs and ran over, only to have something fly into his face and send him stumbling back–the jockstrap.

No, no–not the jockstrap. His jockstrap. His favorite jockstrap. His one and only jockstrap. He wore it everywhere, all the time, why in the world had he taken it off? He took a deep inhale of the pouch, and then pulled it back on, shivering as the pissdamp pouch cupped his cock and balls, gently massaging him until he was half hard and leaking like a faucet. He let out a groan of pleasure, and felt his body growing grungier as he stood there–and took a deep whiff of his pits. Not dirty enough–he wasn’t dirty enough. Still, he…he could fix that, but he had to…destroy it. Yes, destroy the evil thing, destroy it destroy the thing that hurts them destroy it–

He tromped over to the bottle of Clean-All and picked it up, but before he could obey the jockstrap, because he knew he would only have one chance–he turned the nozzle towards his crotch and sprayed.

The scream that ripped through his mind was excruciating, but only lasted a moment, as the jockstrap, caught in the full blast, dissolved in moments, leaving Mick panting and shaking. He did it–he didn’t know it that would work–but it had.

“Dad! Help!”

Mick turned and saw his son tangled up in the mass of leather. As soon as he spoke, however, a strap of leather wrapped around his throat, turning his face blue, and then he was gone, swallowed up by the beast. Mick ran over, bottle outstretched, and sprayed the leather before it could smack him again. The golem yanked itself back and then recoiled, his son dropping unconscious from it’s body to the concrete floor as the leather retreated to its corner. Mick grabbed his son under his arms and flung him over his shoulder in a fireman’s carry, and tromped up the stairs, one hand steadying Ty, and the other brandishing the spray bottle.

At the top of the stairs, it was clear that destroying the jockstrap had meant something to the rest of the clothing. They menaced them, but kept their distance, well out of the spray bottle’s range, and so Mick, huffing and puffing by the end, managed to weave his way out of the house, stumbling down the front steps naked, threw open the car door with the keys from his son’s pocket, and laid Ty out in the back seat. He hurried around before anyone could see him, climbed in and started the car, driving off as fast as he could, before he slowed down and pulled off to the side of street, shaking and panicked and terrified of what had just happened. He laid his head on the steering wheel, taking a few deep breaths…and then he heard his son chuckle.

He looked back, past the center console, and saw that Ty was awake–and that he’d changed. His son had been a string bean, but in the course of a few minutes, as they’d driven away, he’d put on a ton of muscle, and as Mick watched, tattoos snaked their way past his bicep and down his forearm. “Too…too tight…” Ty said, his voice deep and thick. He grabbed his shirt in one hand and ripped it away with a grunt, revealing a thick leather harness underneath. It must have wormed its way on when Ty had been in the grip of it, and Mick hadn’t checked–

Before he could grab the bottle of Clean-All, however, a slender leather collar which had twined its way around one of the harnesses straps shot out and coiled its way around Mick’s neck, choking him. He clawed at it, but it was no use–he was too weak, too…too submissive, too pitiful he had to serve, serve his son, serve the master the master was more important. Struggling for air, and for his sanity, Mick watched his son continue to change, growing taller, and more brutish by the minute, his eyes dull and cruel and masterful and Mick loved him so much, didn’t he? Loved him as a son as a master yes his master. His one and only master.

“Back.” Ty growled, sneering at his pitiful father as he spun around, turned the car on and sped back towards the house, desperately fighting with the collar for control, but realizing he’d already lost. Ty, however, grabbed the bottle of Clean-All from the passenger seat, considered in dumbly for a moment, and then tossed it out the window. They weren’t going to need that. He had more important things to do. They pulled back into the driveway, and Mick was pleading with his son, “Please, please Ty, snap out of it–don’t do this, don’t do this to us! You have to fight it–you have–”

He was silenced by Ty grabbing him by the throat with one massive, furred hand and squeezing the voice out of him, “Shut up slave. Inside, now!”

Mick felt his cock pulse in desire, and then he was out of the car and hurrying up the walk and back into the house, his son lumbering after him. Inside the living room, the clothing had all gathered, and Mick stood there–terrified and naked. “This one,” Ty growled, shoving Mick forward, “Yours–This one–ours, in the basement. Leave collar.”

The clothing swarmed then, tackling Mick to the floor, all of it so filthy, so wonderfully, amazingly filthy. They fought over him, and he wanted to wear them all, he did, but he couldn’t. A disgusting wifebeater several sizes too large slipped onto him, followed by a muddy pair of overalls with a bit too much room for a gut, and a pair of grungy socks and boots, and then the rest backed off, and Mick stood up, feeling his body change as the clothing wanted. He was growing, his gut filling out with fat, the collar needing to expand as his neck thickened, and was soon covered my a massive wiry beard that grew out of him chin.

“Aw yeah, filthy fuckin’ redneck hick, gotta cum, gotta git dirty, we gotta git so fuckin’ filthy, fuck…” Mick groaned, massaging his cock into the denim. But almost as soon as he had changed, the clothes were ripped away by others which pulled themselves onto his body, and changed him again. He lost track of how many outfits he wore over the next few hours, his body changing to suit each other, and they all wanted him–needed him. He could never leave, there were too many–but then, he heard the voice, the deep roar of his son from the basement, “Come. Time for punishment.”

The collar wouldn’t let him say no, and he hurried down into the basement, where he found his son. He was massive, at least eight feet tall, and it looked like every bit of leather in the basement had managed to wrap itself around him. His eyes were cruel and angry and vicious, and as soon as Mick fell in front of him, straps shot out and wrapped their way around him, and then it began, his son beating and torturing him for hours, the leather feeding off his pain and agony. This was their life now, serving the cloth, and it would consume him before long, like it had consumed the ones before him, but he would serve, and serve happily.

Well holy hell, this is one hot, fucking submission. Hope this makes your Saturday night a bit raunchier. Thanks Beardsman, and well done.

***

I found it a bit strange when I saw my Dad. The divorce with Mom had hit him hard, and I had been actively talking to him every other day for a month now. It was just a few weeks ago that he was telling me about his friend that he met at the town’s tavern. Allen-something-or-other. The conversations would slowly shift from him missing the smell or touch of my Mother to the crazy drinking nights Allen had him mixed up in.

He was a true man, at least as I saw him, raising me in a small country town. I guess it wasn’t too different seeing him in his regular Flannel shirt. The leather vest had just thrown me off a tad.

As I said, he was always the real man’s man. However, he had a big heart. He never spoke roughly of anyone, gladly offered a helping hand, and was a trusted member of the community. The man I saw before me was barely that. I could only recognize my Father’s stare, looking back at me in a glazed daze. He opened his mouth to speak, and I hardly could process just how deep of a rumble escaped his lips.

“Missed you, boy” he spoke aloud. A cloud of smoke nearly blocked his entire face with those three words. While in a deeper, gravelly-tone, I almost melted at the heart-felt meaning. He only called me ‘boy’ when he was heart-broken, sappy, or proud. He took a drag from his cigar, and I noticed his arm adorned with an array of tattoos creating an unfinished sleeve. Another strange occurrence, as he was always a man who was against defiling the body with ink or metal. Still, his tattoo and shining septum-piercing that stood out in the contrast of his facial hair broke down those familiar barriers.

His facial hair, I remembered it as a shaggy black beard that completed his charming lumberjack facade. It was now trimmed and shaped into something smaller than I had ever witnessed his wear. Almost as shocking as his mop of raven hair was shaved to a uniform strip that followed it all the way back to his neck.

Before I could process any of it, I still knew it was my Dad. He was accepting of everything I did, so I shouldn’t jump to any judgments with his new style. Some guys just handle divorce differently.

I out-stretched my arms and approached, big smile gracing my face to combat the same stony expression he held since I entered from the front door. What was intended as a solid loving hug went horribly awry. He grabbed my chin as I was closing my arms around him and locked thick meaty lips onto my own. Before I could pull back, still somewhat trying to hug him, I felt the burning rush of tobacco smoke filling my insides. The thickness made me light-headed, and I could scarcely register his nicotine-lined tongue sliding inside.

With a rough push, he released me, and I stumbled back. My head played everything in slow-motion, and I could even see the slick trail of saliva between us before it vanished in distance.

“I said…I missed you, boy.” The same word I knew as an affectionate pet name rattled around in my head, and I felt another meaning creeping up behind it. That wasn’t pride, at least not the wholesome pride I knew to expect. That was ownership.

“D-dad…Why did you kiss- I mean, what was that f- how did..??” I couldn’t get the words out, not while he was looking at me like that. Not while that smoke poured from his nose and danced in the air between us. I had a feeling that my concern wouldn’t be met.

“You didn’t want a kiss from your old man?” That voice again, this time it sent shivers through me. Just as velvety as that smoke. What the fuck was going on??

“A kiss..? No, Dad..It’s okay…I missed you…”

That was it. That was all I could reply. I started rationalizing that a kiss was just as affectionate as a hug, if not more so. We hadn’t seen each other in a while. It was a natural thing, right? Guys kiss their girls like that all the time. The logic only barely concerned me, as I didn’t have time to realize I compared myself to a girlfriend, or using ‘girls’ as an objectified noun.

“I bet,” he said, swiftly stepping towards me and reaching a meaty weathered palm out to rub my abdomen. I heard the stomping of his boots, and looked down out of instinct. Not towards his suggestive advances on my body, but to the perfectly-shined leather and silver adorning his feet. Normally, those clompers were kept in the muddiest condition from his job. I hadn’t seen them this clean even when they were new.

My thoughts were interrupted by another, softer kiss. It was joined by a vibration that emanated from his throat. A cross between a growl and a moan, but I couldn’t tell the difference with that sweet baritone he addressed me in. Since this kiss was slower, more sensual, I had time to really taste him. It wasn’t the normal taste of a cigarette you’d detect on a smoker’s tongue. It was heady, spicy. A multitude of flavors danced on my palette. Mixed with the smell of an earthy cologne he seemed to be wearing, I was swimming in sensations.

I almost didn’t let my Father pull back from the kiss, keeping on his tongue with my lips until he was too far to hold. Out of instinct, my hand rested on his chest. Solid, as I imagined, and shaved clean to the skin.

“Yeah, not growing out that pelt anymore. Allen says I look better without it.” I hadn’t even asked the question, but I supposed he sensed my reluctance to the change. I always remembered the furry barreled-chest. One that you’d be happy to bury your nose in, and cuddle in, and- what the fuck was I even thinking…?

“I don’t know what’s going on, Dad…,” I said as I grabbed my head. It felt like my thoughts were splitting in two.

“You don’t? That was always like you, boy. Confused and helpless. Never understood why you ventured off on your own.”

What was that? It seemed a bit harsh in those words, and the mocking tone he took hit a sore spot deep down inside.

“Yeah, your face says it all. It’s fine, boy. Allen explained how some of us are just born to take orders. I’m the same way. That’s why your Mother was always in the picture. Big difference now is that I can GIVE the orders, too…,” the last sentence had a cocky tone to it, and my confusion only increased the way he was staring at me. “You want some orders, boy? You haven’t really moved since you got here. You already seem eager.”

“No, Dad, I’m just..I..,” COME ON! WHY CAN’T I FINISH A THOUGHT???

“You mean ‘Yes’, Jake,” he said matter-of-factly.

“N-no..I mean..yeah..maybe…,” it was still hurting, the throbbing in my head. I had trouble looking away from him. I had trouble thinking anything different than what he was suggesting.

“’Maybe’ isn’t good enough, is it, boy?” I blinked in response, and he leaned closer, “Is. It. Boy.”

“N-no, sir…”

I saw a smile grace his face for the first time, as if he had accomplished something great. He took another hit off his waiting cigar, and blew a thick plume into my face before speaking again, “Yeah, Allen said you’d need some training. Just like your old Daddy here.”

He turned his cigar around and put it in my lips. I’d smoked before, but never on anything like this. I could taste the signature of my Father’s saliva as the tip hit my tongue.

“Suck it deep.” I wasted no time, using my experience to inhale. I didn’t want to disappoint him, to fail him. It wasn’t a new feeling, just a classic one translated to these new phantom desires I felt arising in me. “Hold it.” That harsh tone again. I coughed inside, a small billow escaping my nose. Before I could see anything, I felt his hand push against my face and the back of my head hit the wall.

“I SAID HOLD IT, FUCKER!” I immediately broke out in a cold sweat from his harshness. That and the shortness of oxygen to my brain were really fucking with me. He closed in on my face again, slowly removing his hand and replaced it with his lips.

This was like the first kiss. Penetrating, harsh, wild. I took it as a sign to let go, and felt the burning deep inside release through my mouth. My Father sucked it in with an almost innocent eagerness. The permeating fog floated between us in short clouds each time an opening showed in our kiss. It was in this moment that I felt his hand brush over my jeans, and knock my erection.

My Dad pulled back and gripped tighter than I would have liked at the bulge in my jeans, “Yeah, fucking hard already. My boy likes it rough, huh?” I didn’t recall enjoying having my head slammed. I would have guessed that it was the kiss, or the sultry smoke, but he was telling me differently. As up to this point, I couldn’t argue with him. Before I could plead my case, I felt his fist land on my soft chest, knocking me back again into the wall. I grunted in pain, and felt his hand massaging my crotch once more. The combined sensations were confusing, of course. “Yeah, feels good to someone like you.”

What the fuck did he mean by that?? I tried to respond, but felt a slap around my face before a word could escape. His hand was thick, and he obviously wasn’t playing around. It definitely hurt. At the same time, I could still feel the other rough palm pressing into my dick.

“Still hard, and getting harder,” he declared. He kept up his efforts, hurting me in different ways while continuously massaging my manhood. I knew the smoke was slowing me down, making me hang on every word, and he was conditioning me to like everything he was doing. His taunting was pushing me closer to the edge, whether I wanted it or not. Even as he ripped my shirt open, and stroked the dusting of soft fur of my own, I knew he was getting through to me when I let out a desperate moan from him harshly twisted my nipple.

“Oh god, Dad!” I cried out involuntarily, and his smug expression only deepened. His grip loosened finally, and I heard the sound of my jeans-zipper lowering. I should have pushed him away, fought back in some form, but I was craving what might happen next. Like a cliff-hanger to a story, but with an expectedly VERY naughty ending.

This was my Father. That very fact made this all the more disgusting and wrong, which in the same aspect made it feel so much more fun. There was a thin line between Taboo and Fetish, and god-damn if he wasn’t eradicating it right now!

“You’re a leaker, boy. Makes me proud that you take after your Daddy…In more ways than one, obviously…,” I looked down to see my pole pushing a small opening in my briefs, and the front cloth was slimy and darkened from my own fluids. Two of his fingers pushed into the opening and played with my dickhead. My mouth opened in a boisterous moan. “Make some noise, you little shit!” He egged me on, and reached with his other hand to squeeze my clothed nuts.

“FUCK!” I pushed back against the wall, and squirted pre from my slit. I never though this pain could feel so GOOD. It was him, my Daddy. I knew he was telling me to like it, and I was obeying as he expected. It scared me at how much power he had over me, but I wasn’t about to tell him otherwise.

“Your Daddy here likes his balls stretched and squeezed. You do, too. Dontcha?” Another grip, another pleading moan from my lips. I looked down with blurry-eyes to his zippered crotch. He sensed what I was thinking, and opened the forbidden denim gate.

Just as his previous statement, I saw his sac stretched at least three-inches downward by metal rings. They looked red and swollen, but all I could think was how good they must have felt compared to his grip on mine.

I almost didn’t see what hung above it. A thickly-veined beast with a silver ring dangling under the head. A bit thicker than his septum-piercing, and dripping musky dick-slime. It DID look just like mine, but a tad larger in thickness. It was surreal, staring at what my cock might turn into in the future.

“It’s big, Daddy,” I stated, almost dumbly. Well, did I expect to make a philosophical statement on it?

“No shit, dumb-fuck.”

Dumb-fuck. I sure felt that way right now. I looked into his eyes, and he read my mind once again.

“Yeah, dumb fuckers like you that can’t think straight. Nothing straight about you. Even that curved pig-dick of yours.”

Pig dick?? Sure, I was dumb, but was he calling me fat now? That wasn’t very nice.

“Fat. Fucking. Pig Dick.” He grabbed my dick and shook it with force.

“Oink!” I snorted. I fucking SNORTED instead of moaning. I must have liked being a pig for my Daddy.

“Damn! For a dumb pig you sure learn quick. How about this?” He grabbed my nuts again, and I couldn’t help squeal out, “You’re nice and soft, especially your ass, piggy.”

“Daddy, you like my ass?” I was surprised by his comment, and felt a swelling of pride in me.

“Oh yeah. I loved it when you’d bend over and spread those fat round cheeks for me. That fur, the musk- makes me want to eat you out. One hungry pig for another.”

I snorted, shooting out more pre as his suggestion hit home again. Why was I enjoying this so much? Why was I trying to overthink everything? Pigs don’t think that much. I felt a rumbling in my tummy as I considered the word ‘hungry’. I was, very much so. “I’m hungry, Daddy…”

“Yeah you are, pig. What do pigs like us eat?”

“We…we eat…,” I replied dumbly, having trouble with the question. The obvious answer was in his previous statement, but I couldn’t bring myself to say it.

“Spit it the fuck out, pig. What do hungry, nasty, horny pigs like us eat?”

“WE EAT ASS,” I said aloud, pushing the statement from my lips. Admitting it was like a flood-gate opening with new nasty thoughts permeating every corner of my mind.

“Yeah we do. We eat ass, and cum, and sweat, and piss.”

PISS? The thought a few minutes ago, that would have made me ill, but if I was growing used to the thought of my Daddy’s musky ass crack, then what harm was getting a drink from his dick? “We..we eat piss?”

“We drink it, dumb-fuck. We drink that stale liquid gold and our thirst is never sated.”

My mouth felt so dry as I listened to Daddy sir speak. I still felt hungry, too.

“Piggy looks like he wants something,” was his reply to my sudden obvious fidgeting. Without a warning, he dropped what remained of his jeans and turned around. I thought he was wearing underwear, seeing his dick just hanging out, but I realized he was wearing a very tattered pair of briefs. They were stained and darkened from constant wear. I could smell the stench wafting from the material. It only made me hungrier.

The back of the material had multiple holes, mostly small, but I could see the outline of his sweaty crack. The line was accented with the roundness of his fit ass from years of hiking and squats.

“Here’s some beef for my piggy. Better dig in before it gets cold.”

I didn’t need any more urging, and I dove forward, landing on my knees, and my face was buried in that dingy cloth. I still gagged, and tried mentally to pull away with no avail. It was so rank, so foul that I was buried in my own Father’s ass. My Father…Dad…Daddy. Daddy’s ass. I was tongue deep in my Daddy’s ass. I was hungry and needed more. I pushed the tip of my tongue into several of the holes, tasting salty flesh underneath.

“I don’t need my underwear cleaned you fucking nasty son of a bitch! Open that up!” I wasted no time in following what he wanted, grabbing a hole with two fingers and ripping it wide. While his chest was clean-shaven, his ass was untouched. It looked so fucking GOOD!

I snorted, and moaned, mashing my lips deep into his almost cavernous crack. The plump flesh left so much to hold onto, to clean, to worship. The buds on my tongue scraped and dove deeper with each thrust, until I hit the waiting pucker. I heard my Daddy let out a piggy-snort of his own, and he pushed back without any more urging. The tip of my tongue penetrated, the flesh inside was even muskier. I felt him clench around the invasion, my hands holding his thighs tight and pulling him into me. It felt like an actual meal, as I drank his sweat and suckled on his ass I felt the hunger-pains weakening.

“FUCK! *Snort*,” he rocked on his feet before falling to his knees. I clamored to follow his movements, only coming loose from his ass for a moment before pushing back in with greater force. On his hands and knees, Daddy called me degrading names, and kept telling me how insatiable my hunger would be. “What the fuck do pigs eat, bitch??”

I pulled out of his ass and moaned “Ass!” and fell right back into it.

“Yeah, we eat ass. We can lick and chew tight beefy backsides until our Sirs cum all over us. What do PIGS eat?”

“We eat ass, and cum!” I called out, proud of remembering the next one.

“WHAT ELSE DO WE EAT, PIG??”

“SWEAT, SIR!” Upon that reminder, I licked straight up his crack to gather the stale sweat, and even lowered myself to lick deep between his thigh and stretched balls.

“*SNORT* WHAT DO WE DRINK, YOU SICK FUCK?”

“We- *snort!* We drink piss, SIR!”

At that, Daddy flipped onto his back, legs spread wide and I finally had a clear view of his swimming pucker. It was drenched in my saliva, and I had the urge to suck it all up. That is, until Daddy pointed his dick at me.

“I hope your thirsty, pig!”

I tried to reach it in time, my mouth wide and ready to take his rod deep to drain him of every drop. I was too late when the stream hit my face. It ran down my cheeks, my lips, and I tried my best to get it into my mouth. The taste was explosive. So much better than the salty perspiration. He raised his aim, soaking my forehead and then my hair, watching it stream down my chest and fall from my belly to form puddle below me. As the stream began to slow, I stayed put, smacking my lips and drinking what I caught on my tongue. Daddy watched me with pride.

“There’s a happy pig…” He patted his ass, urging me to continue, and I dove back into it with fervor, drinking left-over sweat, piss, and my own saliva. It was only when Daddy pulled away and got back onto his knees that I could stop, and in his position he grabbed my face and mashed it into his.

Another loving, primitive kiss. This time, he was tasting himself. He was enjoying his own musk, and snorting between breaths as he enjoyed the treat as a good piggy should. My Daddy lead such an amazing example. Pigs like me, we learn from the best!

Mick had given up trying to hold it back–to hold it in. He had enlisted his son’s help in cleaning out the rental house he owned–the last tenet had skipped out on the lease and left the place a complete sty–and everything had been going well, until the jockstrap. Mick had found it in the bedroom a few days prior, and just…hadn’t been able to throw it away. He’d stashed it, and whenever his son was out of the room, he’d take a sniff, or a lick, or a suck…

Ty had gone out for cleaning supplies, and Mick just hadn’t been able to resist any longer–and so he stripped down and pulled on the stiff jock…and then he hadn’t been able to stop. Now here he was, sitting in the living room, the old tenet’s clothes on–the filthiest ones he could dig out of the trash bags they’d filled already, waiting for his son to come back.

He took a deep drag off the half smoked cigar he’d found in an ashtray and ran his hands up his arms, amazed at how fast the dingy hair had spread. He even had a goatee now, and some of the most disgusting pit stench he’d ever smelled, but he loved it. With the groan, he let loose a blast of piss into the front of the jock, feeling it run off the seat of the chair and puddle on the floor, but that didn’t matter. He’d just have his son lick it up when he got back–after he finishes giving his dirty old Pa a bath.

Oscar’s New Thug Slut

“I really appreciate you being so understanding about this Oscar,” Mr. Williams said, “I just never knew that our son was such a thug slut, or we would have done something about it sooner.”

“I know!” Mrs. Williams added, “I mean, I always thought he was such a nice boy, but if I had known…” she gave a little shudder before continuing, “Well, let’s just say that it was lucky you were here, so you could spot the warning signs! I mean, if we would have sent him off to college, it would have been a disaster.”

“A real disaster–could you imagine wasting all those college savings on a thug slut like Quint?”

The two of them laughed, but Oscar just smirked, “Yeah, it would have been bad, I’ll tell you that much. But don’t you two worry, I’ll take good care of Quint, and make sure he grows up into the proper thug slut we all know he is.”

The front door to the duplex opened, and Quint trundled in, carrying a small box. “Here’s all of the stuff you said to bring, Master–I loaded the rest of my things into the back of my dad’s truck, like you told me to.”

“That’s a good job thug slut,” Oscar said, and gave him a smack on the back, making Quint wince. He still hadn’t taken the large bandage off the back of his neck and shoulders yet, from the tattooists yesterday. He was so happy Oscar had shown him what a thug slut he was–his life is going to be so much better now, that he doesn’t have to worry about college, or reading, or thinking for that matter. From here on out, all he would be doing with his life is working out, sucking cock, and whatever else his thug master wants him to do. “Mr. Williams–you’ll be a good man and take the thug slut’s things to the dump, won’t you? I’m going to be busy this weekend.”

“Oh, of course! Of course–I’d be happy to do that for you Oscar, you know we’ll do anything for you.”

“Yes, anything,” Mrs. Williams said, “all you have to do is ask.”

“Yep, just ask, and we’ll do it.”

“Sounds good,” Oscar said, “Fuck–slave, watching you cart all that shit around got me horny. Get down there and suck me off.”

“Yes sir!” Quint said, and got down on his knees, taking Oscar’s thick meat down his throat in a single thrust.

“Aw yeah slut, that’s good, real good…” Oscar said, puffing heavily on his cigar, and Mr. and Mrs. Williams were looking increasingly uncomfortable.

“You know, why don’t we just leave you two to it?” Mrs. Williams said, “Come on dear.”

“No, you fucking cunt, stay.” Oscar spat, “And you too fucker. We were having a nice conversation, weren’t we? And he’s just a thug slut, there’s no need to worry about him.”

“Oh…oh I guess so…” Mrs. Williams said, and the three of them chatted awkwardly about the neighbors and the neighborhood while Oscar smoked and rammed his cock down their son’s throat in front of them, finally tensing up and cumming all over Quint’s face.

“Alright, that’s good thug slut–head upstairs to the bathroom and wait for me,” Oscar said, and Quint got up, cum still plastered across his face, and went upstairs. Oscar turned back to his parents and said, “Alright, you two should probably be on your way now.”

“Alright,” Mr. Williams said, “And again, Oscar, thank you for helping us out with our thug slut son, you’ve been a great help.”

“Yes, we don’t know what we would have done without you.”

The two excused themselves and left Oscar’s side of the duplex they were renting to him, and he shook his head, smiling, and then bounded up the stairs after his slave, who was standing in the bathroom, waiting patiently. “Alright bitch, I’ve been wanting to do this for fucking weeks. That mop of yours has got to go–we need you looking like a proper thug scumbag, right?”

“Yes sir, whatever you say sir,” Quint said.

Oscar sat him down on the toilet and grabbed his shaver, and started working his way over Quint’s scalp, cutting away all of his shoulder length hair in long strokes. “This, thung slave, this feels good, doesn’t it? Me cutting away all the weight from your shoulders–I’m freeing you, I’m letting you be who you really, are, just a fucking thug slut–right?”

“Yes sir, I’m a fucking thug slut.”

“No bitch,” Oscar said, pausing in his shaving long enough to take the cigar from his mouth and stick it in Quint’s, “You’re not just a thug slut–you’re my thug slut–never fucking forget that.”

“Yes sir,” I won’t sir–I’m your fucking thug slut–no one else’s,” Quint said, taking a deep inhale off the cigar, and exhaling with a moan, his cock hard in his pants.

“That’s right slut–and we’re gonna have you all thugged out here soon enough. All that time you used to spend reading? Studying? Forget that–the only thing you care about now is working out–you’re gonna be one muscled thug by the end of the year, I promise you that–especially after I get those steroids from my buddy Zach–everyone is gonna want a piece of your bubble butt by the time I’m done with you. And that’s not the least of it–a new tattoo every week, and we’re gonna get you pierced too, starting with a fucking big ass PA through that cock head of yours. How does that sound, slut?”

“It sounds so fucking hot sir…”

“Damn right it does,” Oscar said, rubbing his hand over Quint’s buzzed scalp, and then grabbed a razor and some shaving cream, smeared it all over his his slut’s head and started taking the hair down to the scalp. “You know slave, you’re gonna learn something real soon, you’re gonna learn how fucking vulnerable it feels to have not a lick of hair on your head. You’re gonna learn what it feels to have some butch motherfucker grab your smooth head in his hands, and ram his big cock down your throat. You’re gonna learn what it feels like to be a real bitch, and you’re gonna keep this dome smooth for me, right? You’re gonna love the feel of a hand on your scalp pushing you down onto your knees so much, that you’re never gonna grow your hair out again.”

Quint couldn’t reply. He’d tranced out completely off the smoke from Oscar’s cigar, that his eyes had sagged half closed, but he was listening to every word–Oscar could tell, because he could see his thug slut’s hard on through the jeans he had on. Those were gonna have to go, he figured–even though he hadn’t settled on a uniform for his slut yet. Jockstraps? Gym shorts? Shirtless was a give in, of course, but he just wasn’t sure about the lower half yet–still, he had months to settle on a good look for his new thug.

He stripped Quint down, took the cigar back, and then had him hose his head off in the shower–no soap though–thug sluts smell like sex and musk and sweat–Quint was going to have to get used to stinking like his master did. He climbed out, and Oscar decided it was time to take the bandage off, and take a look at his slut’s first tattoo of many. He pulled it off and smiled–it was perfect–”Property of Oscar” in big letters that Quint would never hide–not that he’d want to. He was proud to be a thug slut–Oscar had made sure of that, as he ran his fingers along the still sore back, feeling Quint stiffen–and Oscar’s cock was stiffening again too.

Oscar bent the still wet Quint over the counter, one hand on his newly shaven head, and he worked his cock into Quint’s hole. the bathroom filling up with smoke–Quint roaring in pain at first, but he loosened up soon enough, and started moaning in pleasure. His master was right, the sensation, the vulnerability of that hand on his smooth head–it felt like his master could crush his skull in his hand, or palm it like a basketball–he could do anything he wanted with him, and Quint would accept it, would beg for it–he needed his master so bad–he’d do anything for him.

Oscar, grunting and snorting, started pounding his cock in as hard as he could, and then unloaded deep in the slut’s hole, both of them wet now, and he pulled Quint close–you’re mine bitch–mine for as long as I want.”

“Keep me forever sir, please–I’m yours,” Quint said, but Oscar pulled out his cock, keeping his distance. After all, he can’t get too attached to a thug slut–he’ll get sold off eventually anyway, after his hole can’t get tight anymore. Some whore house will end up with him, usually down in Mexico–if he got close to a thug slut, he might actually start feeling bad about it.

“Come on bitch, let’s get you started on a workout,” he said, and the rest of the afternoon was spent getting Quint up to speed on the workout equipment that dominated the living room in Oscar’s place. After a massive protein heavy dinner, it was back to working out, and Quint could almost feel his head draining, his thoughts moving slower, but maybe it was just his master talking to him the whole time, telling him how stupid he was, how he can’t even read, how he flunked out of middle school, how he can’t even remember where he lives–how he depends on his master for everything, how his master is everything to him–he couldn’t live without him.

It was around eleven at night when there was a knock at the door, and Oscar went over and answered it–it was Mr. Williams. “Hey…uh…the wife kind of gave me the cold shoulder tonight, and…well….I was wondering if–”

“Three hundred.”

“Three hundred? Isn’t–isn’t that a bit pricy?”

“Take it or leave it.”

Mr. Williams looked a bit annoyed, then pulled out a wad of cash, counted out Oscar’s money, and then walked over to where his son–no, where Oscar’s thug slut was working out. He wasn’t his son anymore–he didn’t have a son, Oscar had made that perfectly clear, that when Quint moved in with him, he’d have no relation to the Williams anymore.

“Hey Quint–you got a customer. Sit up and give him what he’s looking for.”

“Yes sir!” Quint said, sitting up from where he was pressing, and saw the man looming over him…he looked familiar, didn’t he? He tried to place the face for a moment, but his head just wasn’t working fast enough, and finally he forgot it, and started sucking his cock, listening to the older man moan. He didn’t last long–less than a minute, and then he came, Quint swallowed, and he left, giving Oscar a nod as he went, but Quint was already back down, returning to his bench press. He had to get big for his master. He was just a dumb thug slut after all–his hot body was the only thing he had going for him. Well, that and his hot mouth and ass. He was going to be a good thug slut for his master–the best thug slut Oscar had ever had.

My New Suspenders Part 3

It was all formal wear–and I settled finally on some pants and a shirt that didn’t seem too fogyish, and a tie…because it felt…right. I dressed myself, finding it more comfortable to pull the waist of my pants up over my gut, and then found some socks and shoes to wear, to complete the outfit. As I dressed myself, the voice gnawing at me to find something to smoke kept getting louder, and I was desperate. I didn’t care anymore what might happen when I was dressed, I just needed a pipe, or a cigar, or hell, even a cigarette–just something.

When I was fully dressed, the third set of suspenders I’d found hanging in the closet strapped on me, the door was unlocked, but no one outside the door. Still, I needed to smoke more than anything, so I went downstairs into the den, and there he was, the submissive I’d been chatting with online, and he was completely naked, aside from a leather collar and cuffs, and he said, “What would you like daddy? Pipe or cigar?”

“What are you doing to me? How are you doing this?” I asked, but he didn’t reply, just opened a humidor and pulled out a cigar, clipped the end, and walked over, slipping it into my mouth. I puffed it to life, and from the first breath I just felt…so relaxed. I let him pull me over and settle me in a large armchair.

“Don’t worry daddy, you still have to grow a little more, but I’m here to help,” he started rubbing my belly and I groaned, feeling him keep loosening my suspenders as my gut grew even larger, and then he had my fly open and had swallowed my cock, and I let out a deep groan, noticing that the hair I could see in my beard had turned nearly white.

***

“Fucking take daddy’s cock boy!” I heard myself say, and I realized I had blacked out again. I didn’t know where I was, but my boy was bent over in front of me, and I kept fucking him hard, feeling my fat gut ripple and bounce as I plowed him deep, smoke pouring from my nose and mouth as I did.

“Yeah daddy! Fuck your slave son, fuck me hard!”

“You’re gonna get it, how about I ram my fist up your ass after I breed your hole? Would you like that?”

“Oh yeah daddy, I want to feel you fist me so bad…”

I looked over, unable to stop myself, and saw a mirror in the wall. My eyes have adjusted to the dark now, and I see I’m in some dungeon–probably in the basement of the house, and I’m…huge. Just massively fat, white hair all over my body, a thick white beard covering my face, and nearly no hair left on my head. My suit is gone–instead, I’m decked out in a leather harness and shorts held up by leather suspenders–I’m still growing, I can feel it, and I stare at myself, locking eyes with myself, and feel the last bit of me slipping away. I tense up and cum deep in my son’s hole, yeah, my son, my real son…

***

I stretch in my bed, feeling the silk sheets against my old skin–and give my massive belly a rub down. Fuck, I’m huge…but I don’t know why that seems strange–I’ve been this fat for years now, after all. I heft myself up, feeling my gut sag down between my legs. What am I now–five hundred? Six hundred? Who cares, it felt wonderful. I can smell my son cooking in the kitchen, and I’m starving. I pull on some boxer shorts and some suspenders (after lighting my first cigar of the morning) and lumber downstairs, where I see him, naked as the day he was born, cooking my massive breakfast. I love him so much, I’m so lucky to have such an obedient sexy son as my slave. I may be old, but there’s still plenty of good fucks left in me–in fact, I think I’m going to need one right after breakfast.

The Hypnoslaver

The hypnotist walked through the house, having just finished breakfast, and he figured it was time to check up on each of his slaves in training, to see how they were doing today, and direct their morning training. He decided to start off with his cub, in the first room on the left. The three men had already been trained to wake at exactly six in the morning, and it was now a quarter after. He knocked, and then stepped in, finding Rick just about done getting dressed. The hypnotist had already convinced him that wearing anything other than leather and rubber was physically painful, and so when he stepped in, he found the young bear in his leather harness, pulling on some tight leather pants, but as soon as he saw the hypnotist, he fell to his knees, his head bowed, though the hypnotist could see he was still resisting his compulsions more than he would have liked.

“Good morning cub, how are you doing this morning?”

“I’m well…sir,” Rick said, fighting with the last word, but it slipped out anyway.

“Feeling a bit resistant this morning, I sense?”

“I’m…I’m not going to, I’m going to get out of here, I will, just you fucking…fucking wait…sir…” Rick sputtered, and he tried to get up from where he was kneeling, but couldn’t.

“It seems like the head says no, but the body says yes,” the hypnotist said, “Hmmm…well that’s too bad–I know how you get when you don’t have your morning cum, the withdrawal is just awful. But since you’re obviously not in the mood, I suppose I’ll leave you to stew for a bit.”

“No!” Rick shouted, “No–no, I didn’t mean it, I didn’t please, no I need it, don’t leave, sir.”

The hypnotist sized him up, the fear in his eyes delightful. The cum addiction was well in place at least–if he didn’t swallow at least three loads a day, Rick could barely function. For him, quitting cum was akin to quitting heroin. But still, the cub needed to be taught some sort of lesson for his insubordination. “Leathercub, sleep,” he said, and Rick’s eyes went blank, his body going a bit limp, but he remained on his knees. “Slave, can you hear me?”

“Yes sir, what do you desire, sir?”

“Rick is acting up again, isn’t he?”

“Yes sir, he is angry today, sir. He’s scared, because he’s losing the desire to fight back. He’s starting to like being here–he’s starting to like being your leathercub, sir.”

“I see…well, I suppose we’ll have to punish Rick for his disobedience, won’t we?”

“If that is what you wish, sir.”

“Alright. From now to the time I release you, whenever Rick tries to resist you, I give you leave to whip him into shape–literally. Ten lashes across the back, but instead of pain, both of you will instead feel the strikes as intense, sexual pleasure, and on the tenth lash, you will cum spontaneously, understand?”

“Yes sir, I understand and obey.”

“Good. Leathercub, awake.”

Rick shook his head, a bit dazed, and refocused on the hypnotist above him, and he said, “Very well Rick, I will give you my cum, if you lick my boots clean first.

“No, no I’m…” Rick said, but as soon as he did, he stood up, walked over to the wall where the whip hung, knelt back down and started raining blows on his back, but instead of screaming, each lash brought out moans and groans of pleasure, until on the tenth blow, he came forcefully all over the floor, panting, his back aching, and unable to stop himself, Rick got down and licked up the cum as he had been trained. It took two more series of lashings before Rick relented, and licked the hypnotist’s boots clean, and by then, the master was so turned on by Rick’s self-abuse that he came in less than a minute.

“Very good slave, though you’re a bit slow. Spend the morning thinking about your enslavement, and how much pleasure it gives you to submit to me.”

“Yes…sir…” Rick said, and the hypnotist left, checking the clock. It was now almost seven–he was behind schedule. Hugo, or rather, Helen, would be best to check in on next, he decided, and stopped at her door, giving a knock as usual, before stepping in. The room was frilly and pink, decorated for a girl, but Hugo was on the bed, crying his eyes out, and when he saw the hypnotist enter, he let out a girlish cry, and backed up in fear. “Please no more, sir…please, I can’t take it. I don’t want to be a girl, I don’t! I don’t!”

The hypnotist sighed–still no progress. He’d been doing well with Hugo, but a few days ago he came across a mental block of some kind that he just hadn’t been able to work around. It was going to take some work this one, but he knew he was close. “Sleep, Helen,” he said, and Hugo stopped crying, and went limp. “Are you there Helen? Tell me, what’s the matter with Hugo?”

“Hello sir,” a girlish voice said, “Hugo’s scared, sir.”

“Well I know that Helen, but what is he scared of? Is it me? You couldn’t tell me last time, but you said you’d talk to him about it.”

Hugo shook his head, “No, he’s not scared of you, he scared of…of his dad, I think. Of what his dad would think of him. He’s scared of being a disappointment.”

Hugo had kind of expected it to be a family matter, and he had an idea he wanted to try out, that might help. “Alright Helen, here’s what I want you to do. I want you and Hugo to go to sleep now, as I count backwards from five. Five…you’re feeling very tired…four…you’re drifting off now, you’re losing grip on the world…three…you’re asleep now, but falling deeper…two…so deep now, and you can feel yourself entering a dream…one…you’re deeply asleep, but dreaming, and you’re lying awake in Hugo’s bed, alright?”

“Yes…sir…” Hugo muttered.

“Now, here’s what I want you to dream. I want you to dream that Hugo’s father comes into his room, and admits to him that he never wanted a son–but that he wanted a daughter. And as he admits that, Hugo finds himself changing, becoming more womanly, and he starts making love to his father, sucking his cock, and then begging his father to fuck him like a slut, and when his father cums, you will cum in real life as well, and then I want you to dream the same thing all over again. This dream is going to feel so real, that when he wakes up, it will feel like it had actually happened to him in real life, understand?”

“Yes…sir…” Hugo muttered again, and then said, “Dad…what?…Really? Oh…oh daddy…”

The hypnotist watched Hugo start grinding his cock into the pink sheets of his bed. The dream probably wouldn’t be enough, but it would help break down the wall. The hypnotist didn’t think Hugo would be able to get past it this way though, and sighing, he figured he would probably have to make Hugo believe that the hypnotist was actually his father. Not that he minded–it was just more work than he’d really wanted to do. For now though, he could dream for the rest of the day–and he could go check up on Gary. First though, he had to go get the equipment that had arrived the day before–some new workout equipment for his muscleslut.

He went downstairs, returning with a large box which he carted down the hall to Gary’s room, gave a knock, and stepped inside, bringing to box with him. The smell of sweat and musk was already heavy in the room, as Gary pressed his weights. Of all three, he was the easiest to deal with, actually–he barely resisted his workouts anymore, and the vanity and mental drain was taking hold rather well. He let Gary work a bit longer, the hypnotist admiring his smooth body. He was happy he’d decided to take the tanning slowly–he was developing a nice, bronze color, but didn’t look fake at all, and with all the hair permanently removed from his body, he looked like a statue, almost.

“Gary, take a break–I have a gift for you.”

Gary finished his set first, the hypnotist waiting patiently, and then he hefted himself up off the bench and lumbered over, a stupid grin spread across his face, “Mornin’ sir–How’s you today?”

“I’m good Gary. I have a new piece of equipment for you that I think you’re going to love.”

Gary grinned wider, and the hypnotist watched him open the box and pull out a low step, on which a massive dildo had been attached, big as a man’s forearm, and Gary just blinked at it. “What I supposed to do with it…sir?”

“It’s for when you do squats, Gary. Here, set it on the ground, and I’ll help you with it.” Gary put it down, and the hypnotist lubed up the dildo, before walking Gary through the exercise, how he needed to squat down and take as much of the dildo as he could, before standing back up, and that was a single rep. It didn’t take long for Gary to get used to the rhythm, and he was happily squatting up and down on the massive dildo, a big grin plastered across his face, his four inch cock rock hard from the stimulation, but Gary didn’t even notice. He’d completely forgotten that he had a cock–all he cared about now was getting bigger, and pleasing his master, though feeling the dildo ram into his prostate over and over did feel good, and with a grunt, his cock spurted a load of cum out onto the floor, and satisfied, the hypnotist left him to the rest of his workout. It was going to be a lot of work still, but by the end of the year he was going to have three wonderful hypnoslaves in tip top shape for the convention. The other hypnomasters were going to be so jealous! He couldn’t wait.

Truth or Dare

Alex was used to the sensation by now, the odd tugging in his mind, not exactly moving him limbs for him, but making it impossible for him to move them in any direction other than where “Dad” had told him to go. He parked his car on the street and got out, still a bit self-conscious in his leather harness and chaps, even though he’d been wearing them out of the house more and more often these days, whenever he was told to during their numerous games of “Simon Says.” How fucking twisted was that? A fucking kids game, and here he was, cigar glowing in the fading evening light, dressed up like a fucking leather fag, about to go into some dingy bar where he was going to meet his tormentor face to face for the first time.

Months–it was hard to remember when exactly it had started. It had just been a game at first, something silly to do over chat. He can’t remember exactly when he discovered that Dad’s suggestions were really compulsions–probably the first time he’d been forced to go buy a cigar and light up, mimicking Dad’s actions as closely as possible the entire time. He pushed the memory away, it was too terrifying to think about right now. He had no idea what to expect now–he’d gotten on for their usual afternoon chat, and immediately noticed that something was strange–Dad was in a different room than usual–it looked like a motel room, and he’d chatted just long enough to order Alex to get dressed in his leathers and come to this bar, smoking the whole time of course–but Alex was well addicted at this point–he smoked whether Dad told him to or not.

The bar was lightly packed on a weeknight, it was easy enough to spot Dad over at the bar, a double whisky in front of him, smoking away. Unable to help himself, Alex ordered the same thing and took the stool next to him, matching Dad’s movements perfectly, without even really needing to try. “Simon Says cut it out–” the older man said to Alex, “It’s creepy when you do it in the same room as me.”

He should run. He should hit him. He should do any number of things, he knew that, and yet he just sat there–why? Because he wanted to know–why him? Why torture him for months online and then show up here and now? He wanted him life back, more than anything, but if he ran now, he knew he’d just hunt him down, or blackmail him, or anything else he wanted to do. No, he needed to be smart about this. He needed to know why, more than anything.

“Cat got your tongue?” the man asked, “figured you’d have at least started shouting at me by now.”

“Can you just tell me why? Why do this? What the fuck does any of this do for you?”

In response, the man smiled, “I just love games, I guess–but what fun are games when there’s no real risk involved?”

“Why not just go gamble your fucking life away then like other people?”

“Because the house always wins when you gamble–and I hate losing.”

“What, so you just play games that people can’t win at? Where you’re always going to walk away the fucking winner? That just sounds like cowardice to me. You fuck up my life, make me humiliate myself, all so you can win some fucking game? What the fuck is wrong with you?” Alex said, his voice loud in the mostly quiet bar.

“Sounds like someone forgot how Simon Says works,” the man said, chickling, “You weren’t competing against me–you were competing against all the other boys I was chatting with too. That is how Simon Says works, after all. You’re the winner–congratulations. Are you sure you don’t want to know what your prize is? After all, you got off a whole lot luckier than the rest of them–trust me.”

Alex just sat there–how many other guys had he been playing with? And what had happened to them if having his life ruined and getting summoned to a leather bar was lucky? “How many–How many were there?”

“Twenty–to start with.”

“Fuck.”

“Hey, you did good, my boy–you won! Now, how about we play something else? Just you and me, father and son.”

“Don’t fucking say that, I’m not your fucking son.”

“If you say so,” the man said, taking a sip of whisky, “But you have to admit, that the resemblance at this point is rather…uncanny.”

Alex took a drink too, before replying. “So what is it now? Candyland? Monopoly? Hide and Seek?”

“Nah, how about a nice game of ‘Truth or Dare’?”

Alex shook his head, “I was close though–why all the fucking childhood games?”

“What else should a father play with his son?” the man said, smirking.

Alex sighed, “Do I have much of a choice?”

“I suppose I can’t make you play–you could and refuse,” the man said, pulling a small idol out of his pocket that was shining oddly bright in the dim bar, “But as far as this guy goes, he thinks the game is already going, and he doesn’t like letting players off the hook. I suppose you could skip all of your turns, but I still get to take all of mine. So, four rounds–eight questions in all. When we finish the game, and you can do whatever you want.”

Alex finished his drink quickly, and said, “Fine, but first, I have a question. What’s your name–your real name, none of this Dad and Daddy shit, I want to know your first name, at least.”

“It’s Harvey, but I think you’ll prefer Daddy by the time we’re done here. So, do you need me to go over the rules?”

“I think I know how to play Truth or Dare.”

Alright then–how about I go first? Truth or Dare, Boy?”

The idol on the bar glowed bright for a moment before settling back down, and Alex tried to ask if the idol was responsible for all of this, but he couldn’t get a word out at all. He realized then that the game had started–the only words he would be able to get out would be ‘Truth’ or ‘Dare’, and he didn’t really want to know what Dad would dare him to do here, so he said, “Truth.”

The idol glowed slowly, and the man smiled. “Truth, eh? Just so you know, this game is a little different–I get to say whatever I want about you, and that becomes true.”

“Wait, what?” Alex said, “That’s not how the game is played!”

“That’s how I play it,” Harvey said, “Guess you should have asked about the rules when you had the chance.”

“That’s fucked up.”

Harvey didn’t pay him any mind, and he finally replied, “Alright, here’s your truth. It’s true that you love having me control you–you love having a strong older man dominate you, bend you to his will, and have his way with you.–it’s the height of sexual excitement for you.”

The idol glowed so bright for a moment that it hurt Alex’s eyes, and he felt…different. Everything that had already happened to him had still happened, but he felt…so different about it. Now, all of the humiliation, all the sexual abuse he’d been forced to do, it had all been…thrilling. He’d wanted to come here, he’d begged him to come find him, to…control him in person, hadn’t he? His head hurt so much, but being this close to Harvey, to Dad, fuck, he was so turned on right now, even though he shouldn’t be, should he? He was trying to catch the old memories, but everything that didn’t conform to the new truth was draining down through his fingers, and by the time the figure returned to normal, it was all gone, just…lust, and excitement, and he wanted to play this game, he wanted Harvey to dominate him, he wanted to be controlled, it was going to be so hot…

“Your turn,” Harvey said, “Go on, ask me.”

Alex didn’t know what he was talking about at first, but then he remembered the game. “Are…Are you sure I can’t just skip my turn? I think I’d really rather have you dare me for a little bit,” Alex said, the flirting natural and so wrong at the the same time.

“Humor me, and play along at least,” Harvey said.

“Oh alright–Truth or Dare?”

“Dare,” Harvey said.

Alex pouted, “I don’t know what to do, I’m not really a top, but you know that already…” he said, smirking.

“Oh, be a little adventurous,” Harvey said, leaning in close, “Tell me something you’ve always wanted me to do to you, I want to hear one of my boy’s sick, twisted fantasies.”

Alex’s first thought was that he didn’t have any sick, twisted fantasies…but he did. He really did. Being bound up and fisted, licking his dad head to toe, begging for his cock, being his pup, so many things he couldn’t keep track of them all. “How in the hell do I choose,” he said.

It occurred to Alex then that he could dare him anything. He could make him leave. He could make him promise to undo all of the shit he’d done to Alex these past few months, but he no longer wanted that. They weren’t even through round one, and Harvey had already beaten him, but he knew what he wanted. “Kiss me, but don’t just kiss me, I want you to rape my mouth with your tongue, I want you to force your smoke into me, fucking dominate me with your fucking mouth,” he said, and even before he’d finished speaking, Harvey had lip locked him, one hand wrapped around the back of his head, breathing a big lungful of smoke down his throat which Alex inhaled relishing it as their tongues fought. He was too strong though, and Alex wanted him to win too badly, he could feel the older man wrestle him down, make his mouth his, he could do whatever he wanted with Alex, and he wouldn’t have cared one bit, no, he would have thanked him and asked him for more. They parted for air, Alex harder than he’d ever been in his life, and he said, “I love you,” without even thinking, and Harvey smiled.

In reply, all he said was “Truth or Dare?”

“Dare.” Alex said, not hesitating for a second. “Whatever you fucking want, I’ll do it.”

“Then get down and suck me off, right here, while I have another drink. And I want to hear you enjoy it.”

He pulled out his cock, and Alex didn’t need the idol pushing him to his knees–he was more than happy to comply. Harvey had his cock out, but before Alex swallowed it to the hilt, he asked, “Truth or Dare, Dad?”

Harvey looked surprised, but smiled and said, “Truth.”

“It’s true that you have a foot long cock, as big around as a beer can and three times as sensitive as normal, you can get hard and cum at will, and I can take it all the way to the hilt, no problem.”

“Oh what a naughty boy I’ve got here,” Harvey said, watching his cock grow under the bar. Alex swallowed it down before it finished growing, and he felt it push down his throat, but like he’d said, he had no problem swallowing the entire shaft, Harvey jerking and spasming as he sucked on him, not used to how much pleasure  a simple blow job would give him from now on. It took him five minutes to relax enough and adjust so he could sip his drink at all, and he let it last, listening to Alex moan and groan in pleasure under the bar, stopping only the take a breath, draw on his cigar, exhale the smoke over Harvey’s massive cock and then keep going. The display was drawing quite a bit of attention in the small, sparsely packed bar, and quite a few men were watching the display, jacking their cocks, and wondering what they’d have to do to get some of that boy’s throat to themselves.

“Alright, I’m done, you can come up now, Son,” Harvey said.

“Do I have to?” Alex asked, kissing the head.

“Yes, get up here–we still have a game to finish after all. Now, Truth or Dare?”

“Dare,” Alex said, “And something hard this time.”

“I think my cock is plenty hard boy.”

“You know what I mean.”

“Fine, if that’s what you want,” Harvey said, and thought for a moment, before reaching into an inside pocket of his leather jacket and pulling out a leather collar and a padlock. “I dare you to take this collar, put it around your neck, padlock it closed, and then throw the key away, accepting the fact that you’re going to be my slave for the rest of your life. I usually save that one for last, but why wait? It leaves one round for us to enjoy ourselves.”

Alex shakily took the collar from Harvey, and looked at it, a bit teary eyed–but not from fear…he was…happy. “You…you mean it? You want to keep me?”

“I do,” Harvey said, “I want to keep you forever, son.”

“Dad…” Alex said, but he didn’t have the words. He just took the collar, buckled it around his neck without a word, padlocked it closed, and handed the key to a passing bartender, “Could you throw this away please? I won’t be needing it.”

The man just looked at the two of them for a moment, wondering if he should try to intervene, but figured he’d rather get a big tip than get yelled at by some dom. He took the key, but didn’t throw it away–keeping it by the register, in case the lovestruck sub changed his mind, like they usually did.

“So, Truth or Dare, sir?” Alex asked.

“Dare.”

“Alright. I dare you to leash me up, and take me around the whole bar on my hands and knees. I want you to introduce me as your son who you’ve enslaved, and offer all of the men here an opportunity to use me however they’d like.”

“You’re such a fucking slut.”

“You’re the one who made me that way–enjoy it, sir.”

Alex got down on his hands and knees, and Harvey pulled out a leash he hadn’t brought with him, hooked it to the collar and started parading him around the bar, introducing Alex as he’d been dared to, and nearly every man took him up on the offer. Usually they just wanted blow jobs, but a few men fucked Alex’s ass, and he loved it. Loved being a slave, loved being owned by his Dad, loved serving men, being controlled, the sensation of the leash tugging at his neck, of the rough leather collar he knew he would never take off. It took over two hours for them to go around to everyone, and Alex loved every minute of it, and looking up at his Dad, he could see that the older man approved as well.

They made their way back to the bar, and as they did, Harvey asked, “So son, I suppose this is the last round–Truth or Dare?”

“Truth,” Alex said, “As hot as that was, I don’t think I can handle another round of that.”

“Ha, oh really? Well, it’s true that you have a massive libido which can never be satisfied, that you’re a total sexually obsessed pig covered with explicit, degrading tattoos that you show off to the whole world at every chance you get, and that you can’t say no to anyone, so long as they’ll give you the rough, abusive treatment you crave more than anything else in the world, especially from me.”

It hurt, the tattoos as they spread across his body like fire, but it was over in a second, or at least, most of the burning. His ass, his cock–he needed sex, he needed it so bad. “Fuck dad, you know I didn’t mean that right?” he said, nearly panting with lust, “Let’s go again, I didn’t get fucked nearly enough, fucking make them plow me Dad, I need my hole so loose that it won’t close, come on, please, sir? Please?” he begged.

Harvey looked down at his boy, tattoos of cocks and foul language covering most of his body, the lust filling up his nearly empty eyes, and it was everything he’d ever wanted in a boy. “Sure thing son, but you still have one last question. Ask me, and then we’ll get you what you need.”

Alex looked visibly frustrated, but asked the question, “Truth or Dare, sir?”

“Truth.”

Alex grinned crudely, “Truth eh? Alright. It’s true that you’re my real dad, from your own loins, a hyper-masculine beast of a man, a true alpha, who devotes his whole life to working out, fucking his son whom he’s trained as his sex slave since he was a teenager, a man rough and aggressive, who loves inflicting pain and abuse on anyone inferior to him, who refuses to take no for an answer and will do anything to get his way.”

Harvey had just enough time to widen his eyes in surprise before the idol gave a final flash, and then he noticed that the floor was a bit further away than it had been a second earlier…and that he definitely wasn’t the same man he’d been. He was close to seven feet tall, and must have weighed close to 300 pounds of mostly muscle. He was covered with fur, and had a two inch beard on his face which had grown in the span of a single day, like always. He had nearly as many tattoos as his son–yes, his son. He loved his son, he loved fucking the pig, working out with him–he was shorter than his dad, but had almost as much muscle, a thick bull pig looking up at him with all the love and adoration he deserved, and before he really knew what he was doing, he had his cock out and was fucking him right there in the middle of the bar, roaring out abuse, Alex begging him to be rougher and harder, the rest of the bar silently watching the spectacle unfolding before them.

The one person who moved was the bartender, who took the key he’d been given and threw it in the trash. The boy was right–he wouldn’t be needing that ever again, and then he saw the idol, now dull and boring, sitting on the bar. He pocketed it, and left before anyone could see him. He’d been hoping for a good tip–and if he was right about what he could almost remember happening, this little thing was the best tip he could get.

Gator Nights

Commissioned by Anonymous

Warning: Contains furry TF (gator), watersports, raunch and incest. Don’t like it? Don’t read it.

***

“Nonsense, I insist. Us swamp men git such a bad rap these days. Besides–it’s the middle a the night–the two a ya ain’t goin’ nowhere til mornin’ anyway,” Daryl said, as he turned  the tow truck onto a winding dirt road which wove through the dark swamp, Kent and Howie watching the twisted trees engulf them. Kent and Howie shared a look, but didn’t object. The two frat brothers had been on their way to Spring Break in Miami when their car had broken down out here, somewhere in the swamps of Alabama or Mississippi. Luckily, there had been a gas station within a short walk, but the only tow truck who would come out to meet them was a local who’d come rumbling up after dusk, and he’d been everything Kent and Howie hadn’t wanted. Big beard, hefty gut, missing and rotten teeth, bad BO, grimy clothes–but they hadn’t had much of a choice, and so all three of them had climbed into the cab together and off they’d gone. Now, however, it looked like they were going to lose at least a day, if not more, depending on how long it might take to have their car fixed by a mechanic.

The drive down the road took around half an hour of uncomfortable silence, Daryl occasionally trying to make small talk–asking where the boys were from and where they were going, who they might be meeting, but neither Kent nor Howie felt like sharing more than the most basic information, until all that was left were the sounds of the swamp outside the truck windows. Even if it was early spring, the air was still hot and quite humid, neither of which helped with the stink rolling off Daryl. Howie was getting the worst of it, having taken the middle seat, but Kent, with his head nearly out the window, gave his friend as much space as he could.

It was a relief when they saw the lights through the trees. The building was something between a shack and a house–large, but still rather ramshackle, established but uncared for. On three sides, it was flanked by water–the road being the only way out. Daryl parked the truck and the three of them hopped out, Howie the most eager to get away from Daryl so he could breathe again.

“God damn, that guy smells like ass!” he said to Kent, quietly, but not quiet enough that Daryl couldn’t hear him on the other side, and Kent elbowed him in the side, reminding him to be at least a little polite. After all, Daryl was now their only ticket back to the road, unless they planned on hiking through the swamp all night long.

“Well, thanks for giving us a place to stay, sir,” Kent said, as they followed Daryl to the door.

“Yer welcome,” he said to Kent, “It isn’t much, and it might not be up tah the standards of a couple a city boys like you–” he shot Howie a glare, “But it’s our home.”

“Our home? Who else lives here?” Howie asked.

“Oh, my brother–he’s out at the moment–probably finding some dinner.”

“Where at? There isn’t a store for miles.”

“Oh, the swamp gives us most everything we need,” Daryl said with a grin. “Have a seat boys–I’ll git us some drink. Ya’ll could probably use somethin’ after yer long day.”

Howie and Kent took a seat on the treadbare couch by the banked fire, and Kent said, “You know, you don’t have to be such as asshole.”

“At least I don’t smell like one–I mean, you didn’t have to sit next to the guy dude–it was gross.”

“Still, he’s trying to be nice, and you’re throwing it in his face. Don’t forget we need his help.”

“Yeah, yeah…” Howie said, and leaned back, “What a fucking pain in the ass.”

“You’re the one who didn’t take your car in for an inspection.”

“Oh will you shut up about that? I said I was sorry, alright?”

Kent rolled his eyes, and Daryl came over carrying a ceramic jug in his hand. “Yer both in college, right? I bet ya’ll can drink. This here’s the moonshine mah bro ‘n I brew–I’d like tah know what ya think.”

“Oh, that’s nice, but uh…I’ll pass,” Kent said.

“Well, I’ll take some,” Howie said, and Daryl smirked at him as he handed over the jug. “Alright, well let me see if I can rustle up some grub fer ya. Neither a ya is a vegetarian ‘r anything, right? We only have meat eaters in this here house,” he said with a laugh.

“Dude,” Kent said, as Howie look a drink from the jug, “You know shit like that can kill you, right?”

“Oh? What happened to not throwing people’s generosity back in their face?” Howie said, stuck his tongue out at Kent and drank some more. “It actually isn’t bad–besides, it’s Spring Break! I thought we were going to party?”

“Yeah, with some chicks on Miami Beach, not with these hicks in Buttfuck, Swampland,” Kent said, shifting uncomfortably. “Damn it, I gotta shit.”

“Ha, have fun with that–I don’t think this place has indoor plumbing,” Howie said, then held out the jug, “You sure you don’t want any?”

“Nah, you go ahead–one of us should stay sober around this place I think.”

“Suit yourself.”

Kent got up and walked into the kitchen where Daryl was. “Hey, uh, Sir–where’s the bathroom?”

“I told ya, ain’t no need tah call me sir, boy,” Daryl said, “and we ain’t got no fancy bathroom–just an outhouse out back ya’ll have tah use, though I promise it won’t kill ya.”

Kent felt kind of bad then, realizing he’d been just as much a jerk as Howie had earlier, even if it might have been for a better reason. Still, what could he say? He left, found the back door and headed for the outhouse, leaving Howie inside with Daryl.

“So? What do ya think, boy?” Daryl asked Howie after Kent had left, “You enjoyin’ the drink?” He plopped down on the couch next to Howie, took the jug from his hand and had a swig himself.

“Yeah, it…it isn’t bad…” Howie said, slurring his words a bit, the room swirling awkwardly, “Though it…hits kinda hard…fuck, I think I’m gonna be sick…” He tried to lurch up and make his way outside to puke, but Dylan grabbed his hand and pulled him back down onto the couch. Howie turned to tell the man off, when he say his eyes. His gold irises, and the pupils…were they slits? “Your…eyes are all…weird…” Howie slurred.

“Really boy? Why don’t you keep on looking at them and make sure?”

Howie kept staring into Dylan’s eyes, and he realized, as the room spun around him, what they looked like–they were reptilian. The redneck grinned, showing a few too many pointed teeth, and Howie tried to bolt back, but those eyes–he couldn’t look away from them, and with the room spinning around him he wasn’t sure he could even stand up. “What…what are you? What are…what was that stuff…” Howie slurred, as the tension in his body released, causing him to slump back, though his eyes remained glued to Dylan’s.

“Like I said, it’s just a moonshine me and my brother brew for ourselves…and our family. Now son, you sure are lookin’ uncomfortable, in all of those clothes–how about we do something about that? It’s so hot in here, after all–wouldn’t you be more comfortable naked, with your daddy, just lounging on the couch?” Dylan took one of his hands, the skin cracking apart into scales and already tinged green, the nails now hard, long and black, and started ripping away Howie’s clothes, first his shirt, and then his pants and boxers, Dylan kicking off his shoes and socks, compelled by the redneck’s stare, the gator removing his own clothes as well. “There, isn’t that better?” Dylan asked, putting his arm around Howie’s shoulders, “Just you and yer daddy, hangin’ out?”

“Not…Not my…daddy…” Howie managed to eek out, but he was feeling so strange now. He could feel the liquor pulsing through him, heating him up from the inside, but his throat and mouth were tingling and aching. Dylan took one scaly hand and ran it along Howie’s jawline, smiling watching the young man’s skull start stretching into a snout, the skin growing dry and cracking apart like his own, the teeth multiplying and growing sharper.

“Ha, maybe not yet, son, but soon enough–here, have another drink,” Dylan put the jug to his lips and poured, Howie helpless in his gaze, the heat increasing in his gut, and then he realized that the liquor was doing more to him than making him sick. “Yeah, that’s it. Now, what did you say about yer Pa outside boy? Go ahead and refresh my memory, if ya would.”

“I…I said that you…you smell like ass,” Howie said, and started giggling, the drink slowly choking off his inhibitions and rational thought. Everything just seemed so…easy. He just needed to go with the flow, and have fun, and enjoy himself. “‘Cause you do kinda stink.”

“Ha, yeah, I suppose I do, don’t I?” Dylan said, taking a whiff of his own armpit, “Yeah, I sure do, but ya wanna know somethin’?” he said, then leaned in close to Howie, keeping his eye contact, “I kinda like it, ‘n ya know somethin’ else? I bet a son like you’ll love it too. Yeah, sittin’ next tah me in that truck, drivin’ over here–it was hard to resist just shovin’ that face a yers into my dirty, nasty pit, wasn’t it? I bet my funk had ya hard the whole ride over here, just like it has ya hard right now.”

Howie didn’t know if it was true or not, but in his drunk state he was in no condition to resist. His head just didn’t seem to work right, and he couldn’t quite remember what he’d been doing in the truck. Still, he was hard now, wasn’t he? And he could smell Dylan, and…and he did smell rank, but it was kind of…good? He kind of liked it? Dylan wrapped his scaly hand around Howie’s cock and started stroking it slowly, making the boy moan loudly, and watched his last bit of resistance crumble, as he lurched over and started licking out his armpit.

“Yeah, that’s good son–just let go ‘n trust yer Pa–I wouldn’t steer you wrong after all. You love my fuckin’ stink so much–just enjoy it.”

Howie felt his face ache as his bones stretched and grew, his snout crammed into Dylan’s pit, the rest of his body slowly catching up as the liquor flooded his system. His skin was the most noticeable, as his belly slowly dried out, the skin darkening, and his vision blurred slightly as his eyes changed to match Dylan’s…no his…Pa’s? What was wrong with him? He needed to get out of here, but he loved licking out Pa’s pits so much, and now Pa was running his claws along the base of the shaft of his cock and it felt so damn good, maybe he could just stick around for…a bit longer.

“Heh, so I smell like ass, eh? Well, I suppose it’s a good thing I have a boy who loves ass stink then, eh?” Dylan said, “You wanna clean yer Pa’s ass son? We ain’t got no toilet paper, so I sure could use a good cleanin’ back there. I know how much ya love cleanin’ up yer daddy’s rear end. Go on, lay down on the floor there.”

He had to help Howie up of the couch, and he didn’t have much choice but to lay down, since his head was spinning too wildly for him to stand for long. Looking up from the floor he saw that Dylan had fully transformed, a nearly seven foot tall, chubby gatorman standing over him, looking down at his son over his fat gut, long tail swinging behind him, and then he straddled Howie’s head and sat down on his face. The stench was horrendous, but no longer disgusting–Howie craved it, and he let out a loud moan as his long tongue started clicking the crack clean, probing his Pa’s hole as the big gator jacked his boy’s cock, giving him words of encouragement, watching Howie’s body continue to shift–growing larger, his fairly healthy gut filling out further, his long, thick tail shoving out of his lower back and down between his legs, his hands and feet thickening, the nails becoming claws, and he idly wondered what was taking the other boy so much time in the outhouse–and what was taking Al, his brother, so long in the swamp?

***

Kent wasn’t going to have that–no way, no how. The outhouse was filthy–little more than a hole in the ground, and on closer inspection, he saw that there wasn’t even anything for him to wipe with. Instead, he hiked over to the road, deciding he might as well drop his pants and do his business over there, and just use some leaves to wipe out in the dark. Unfortunately, he hadn’t expected the land to drop off into the water quite as fast as it did, and Kent tumbled down the slope and right into the murky water below, where he came up sputtering and grasping for earth. He scrambled up onto a sandbar, sopping wet, and looked around for the light of the shack, but there was nothing–just darkness. He couldn’t even tell where he’d fallen in, or where the road was. He shivered, and but there was nothing he could use to warm up, and he hunkered down for a moment to figure out what to do.

As he crouched, he realized just how loud the swamp around him was–but rather than being much of a comfort, he found it was only fueling his imagination. He pulled his phone from his pocket and was relieved when it lit up, allowing him to illuminate a small area around him. He swung it around to the side, looking for the slope up the road, but froze when the blue light illuminated something which quickly slithered out of sight and back into the darkness.

He froze, and after a few moments, his phone light went out, plunging him back into darkness, but now he was listening even more intently than before, for any sign that what he’d seen might be approaching him, swimming towards him. Had he even seen anything? Had he just imagined it? Maybe it was just a shadow, or a branch, or–

“What’s wrong little boy–what’re ya doin’ down here?” a voice said behind him, sounding so close that he was certain something’s claws were about to rip into him. The voice–it wasn’t human. It had an almost serpentine quality to it, and Kent nearly bolted back out into the water, but held himself perfectly still instead. It had to be his imagination. There weren’t really swamp monsters or anything like that, those were just tall tales.

“It’s just my imagination, he whispered to himself, “there aren’t really monsters, I’m just hearing things.”

“Oh trust me, I’m as real as you are, boy,” the voice said again, “Here, let me show ya…”

This time, he did feel the claws on him, grabbing the cloth of his shirt and ripping it off his body. Kent screamed then, and flung himself into the water, but the beast was on him before he could even start paddling, fat scaly arms wrapping their way around him, and he thought it was going to drag him under water. “Oh, don’t worry boy–I’m not ready tah kill ya yet, I like tah play with mah food first…” the voice said, and a hot, slimy tongue scraped its way across Kent’s face, and he felt something firm pressing against his asshole.

“Howie! Dylan! Help!” Kent called out, hoping his friend and the redneck would hear him, and to his surprise, a moment later the beast released his grip, allowing Kent to wriggle away and swim forward, scrambling up the slope which he crested and saw the shack right in front of him. Safe–he was safe. He ran for the door and burst inside, still sopping wet, but stopped short when he saw the scene in the living room.

“Gonna fart boy–ya wanna smell yer daddy’s ass gas?”

“Oh fuck yeah, daddy–give it to me! Give it to me!”

Howie–it was Howie’s voice–almost. That same hiss, and Kent went around the couch just as Dylan ripped off a wet fart right in Howie’s face, the younger gator sighing and shooting his second load of the night all over his new gut, Dylan rubbing his son’s gator cum into his scales, and using it to lubricate his cock as he jacked off, and he looked over at Kent, those gold irises, and he wanted to run, he really did, but he couldn’t move. Paralyzed with fear, he felt an odd warmth in his crotch, and he realized that the piss he’d been holding in had released, forming a small puddle around his feet on the floor.

“Heh, Dylan, what did I tell ya ‘bout bringin’ more guys intah the family?” the voice from the swamp said behind Kent, and if he could have turned around, he would have found himself face to face with Al, Dylan’s older brother, his beard and scales gleaming with swamp water.

“I’m sorry bro–but I was horny, ‘n this boy a mine said I smell like ass.”

“Ya do smell like ass, Dylan.”

“Well I know that! But it was the way he said it, Al–I just thought I’d teach ‘em a lesson is all, ‘n he’s doin’ real good now, ain’t ya son?”

“Oh yeah daddy, give me another fart daddy–they smell so good…”

“See he’s fine,” Dylan said, patting Howie’s belly, “This one though–I figured we’d just eat ‘em. He didn’t want any moonshine–he was afraid it’d make ‘em sick,” Dylan said.

“Ha, well he was right, wasn’t he?” Al said, “putting his clawed hand on Kent’s shoulder. He was still caught up in Dylan’s gaze, but Al turned him around and caught him up in his own, “Still, this one’s smarter than that one–smart enough to be scared,” Al said, sniffing the air, “though doesn’t smell like you could hold it in, eh?”

“Please…please don’t eat me,” Kent managed to stutter out.

“Aww, but you’d be so delicious,” Al said, grinning, “Yer gonna have tah give me some good reason not tah–show ya can be useful…” The hand on Kent’s shoulder pushed him down, and his knees buckled, bringing him face to face with Al’s thick, scaly cock and full balls. He didn’t want to, but what choice did he have? He tentatively took the head of the gatorman’s cock in his mouth, and was caught off guard when Al wrapped a hand around the back of his head and drove it down his throat. Kent tried to pry himself off, but he was no match for the gator’s raw power, and a moment later, he caught the bitter taste of piss as Al released. “Aw yeah, how about we have one son for the front, and one for the back?” Al said to Dylan, and the two gators laughed, as Kent struggled, trying to gag the piss back up. However, from the burn in his gut, he could tell that the piss he was taking in had a good amount of alcohol in it, and the only place that might have come from was…

“Here, this might help him along too,” Dylan said, getting up off Howie’s face, grabbing the jug and sticking his cock in the neck, filling the half empty container back up with his piss. Al pulled his cock out of Kent’s throat, and he doubled over, sick to his stomach.

“Hey boy,” Al said, and Kent looked up at the big gator looming over him, but for some reason, the big gator wasn’t staying still, as his vision kept spinning. “Here, I bet you’re real thirsty, aren’t you? Yeah, this’ll help ya become a big man like me and yer Uncle Dylan, drink up.”

He felt so weak. He knew he shouldn’t drink it, that he should fight back, but when Al helped him up and Dylan put the jug up to his lips, he started drinking anyway, both of the gators giving him plenty of encouragement, telling him how much he loved drinking piss, how much he loved pleasing his family and didn’t want to disappoint them. Soon Kent had drained the jug, his face already starting to reshape, and he licked his lips, before Al shoved his cock back down Kent’s throat, face fucking him while Howie crawled over and resumed licking Dylan’s ass.

“Nah son,” Dylan said, pulling Howie back, “I got somethin’ else fer ya to do. All that hole lickin’ has got me all excited–how about ya fuck daddy’s hole like a real man?” Dylan sat on the couch, his legs up and tail down, giving Howie permission to ram his rock hard cock up his new daddy’s ass. “Aw yeah, that’s it son, how’s it feel tah have yer cock up yer daddy’s hole?”

“Feels…feels great daddy, oh fuck…” Howie moaned, driving his cock in deeper.

“Ha, look at those two go, son–” Al said, but Kent couldn’t see anything beyond the underside of his own daddy’s gut. “Aw yeah, just lookin’ at those two fuck–can’t fuckin’ hold it–” He pulled his cock out of his son’s maw and with a couple of strokes shot his load all over Kent’s face, before getting down and licking it off with his slimy tongue, Kent groaning as his bones shifted and grew, his skin turning scaly and a deep green just like his daddy’s.

“Yeah, that’s it son!” Dylan growled, “Shoot yer fuckin’ load deep in yer daddy’s hole!”

Howie , snorting and grunting, slammed his cock in deeper and deeper, before unleashing his own load up Dylan’s ass. Kent looked at Howie and couldn’t really recognize him anymore–his goofy demeanor was replaced by–this hunger, and licking his lips, Howie got down on his knees and started licking Dylan’s ass, felching his own cum from the loose hole.

“Yeah son, you like watching your big cousin go to town on your uncle like that, don’t you?” Al said, and Kent looked up at his Pa, finding himself enraptured with those gold iris once more.

“No, please…please don’t do this.”

“Oh, don’t be such a fucking weakling–be more like your cousin! In fact, since he’s a few years older than you, I suppose you probably do everything he says. Yeah, you’re gonna be the baby of the family I think–hell, you can’t even control your own piss.” With a groan, Kent felt something shoot out of his cock, and it was so pleasurable he thought it was an orgasm at first, but the stench of urine hit his nostrils a second later, and he realized he’d pissed uncontrollably for the second time that evening. “Oh, what a naughty fuckin’ gator–get down there and clean up your mess, son.”

Humiliated, Kent got down and started lapping up his own piss, but it tasted so good he didn’t really complain. Besides, his Pa was right, he was the baby of the family, not that he minded. It meant he got fucked more than anyone else, and he did love getting fucked…right? Some other voice was telling him to resist, but it was slowly being devoured alive by his new instincts. Family came first, and he needed to obey his family if he wanted to grow up big and strong like Pa, Unc and Howie.

Howie finished cleaning his own Pa’s hole out, and stood up, strutting over to where Kent was on his hands and knees, and started pissing on him, Dylan joining his son a moment later, the two sharing a kiss while the soaked him down. It was too much for Kent, who felt his cock unload again–this time a wad of gator cum into the puddle of piss growing underneath him, which he happily lapped up as well, his head dimming as thinking became more and more difficult. When he sat back a few minutes later, the floor clean, he was just another gator–a bit smaller than chubbier than the rest of his family, and let out a loud, satisfied belch.

“Well boys, that was damn hot, but it’s a bit too late for boy’s like you to be up. Besides, I think you’re daddies need some alone time,” Al said, groping his brother’s ass. “Why don’t the two of you bunk up together in the bedroom tonight? We’re gonna have to expand the house again, dang it.”

Kent and Howie headed into the large bedroom, and before Kent knew what was happening, Howie had him bent over the side of the bed and was shoving his tongue deep into his asshole. He shivered, and couldn’t resist pushing back, eager for his big cousin to fuck him with his big cock. Still, doubts lingered, but he could already tell they would be gone by morning. Besides, he was so happy here, with his family. The swamp was his home–and he never wanted to leave.

The Family Farm

I’ve gotten many requests to expand this photo caption from several months ago, so I figured it might be a good way to get these Fridays started.

WARNING: Contains graphic depictions of incest, raunch and incontinence and scat. Don’t like it? Don’t fucking read it, and if you do read it, please don’t be a whiny bitch.

***

Grumbling a bit, Peter stepped out of the shower and towelled off, wishing he could just get his son and get going. He hated staying here, out on the family farm with his big brother–Louie. Well, that wasn’t entirely true–he didn’t mind the farm too much, it was really Louie he couldn’t stand. He didn’t know what had happened to make the two of them grow up so differently, they’d both had the normal suburban childhood, but something had made Louie fall in love with the country, and convinced him to move out and stay with their great uncle on the farm when Peter went off to college, and farm life had made his brother unrecognizable. Still, to each his own Peter supposed.

Peter had come out to the farm in late august to pick up his son, Sam, who had spent the summer here, living with his uncle. He was going through a bit of a rough patch, getting into trouble with alcohol and drugs, doing poorly at his first year of college. Peter had made a summer at Uncle Louie’s farm a requirement, if Sam wanted Peter to keep paying the tuition bills, and he’d hoped a summer of hard labor away from the city would help set his son back on the straight and narrow. Still, things hadn’t gone all that smoothly since he’d arrived a few hours ago. Hell, he hadn’t even seen his son yet–Louie and he had been on their way to the barn where he was working, when Louie had stumbled into Peter, knocking him over into a massive mud puddle. Louie had insisted that they head back to the house, get Peter’s clothes off him so they could go in the wash, let him shower, and he could wear something else in the meantime.

Peter hung up the towel, thankful that at least the house had been updated a bit from his memory. Running water was a nice change–he’d always hated having to get it from the well out back when he visited as a kid. He went into the bedroom and saw that Louie had already picked up all of his clothes to be washed–including his underwear–and left a set of his own, a flannel shirt, a pair of overalls, and some rubber boots–nothing else.

Peter rolled his eyes, and figured his brother must have forgotten what more civilized people wore. Still, it wasn’t like he needed to keep himself up for anyone, living out here all alone. If anything, he’d gone even more hick than when Peter had last seen him years ago. Louie was a big man–several inches over six feet tall, and thick, that mix of fat and muscle Peter only saw on powerlifters and farmhands with an appetite. He was hairy as fuck too, and Peter had no idea where he’d gotten it. Neither Peter nor their father could grow a beard to save their lives, but Louie’s was down to his chest, and very full and wiry. Still, Peter figured he didn’t have much choice, and so he pulled on the clothes Louie had laid out, finding them way too big for his slender frame, but thankful that they were at least clean, and headed downstairs, to find his brother out on the porch, drinking some strong smelling alcohol from a mason jar.

“There ya are, nice and clean,” Louie said, smiling, “Again, sorry ‘bout pushin’ ya earlier, I musta tripped over mah own feet.”

“Don’t worry about it,” Peter said, “So, is Sam back yet?”

“Nah, I guess he’s still dungin’ out the barn, though he’s probably almost done. Why don’t we head over there again? I promise not tah fall intah ya this time.”

Peter nodded, and the two of them set off again, making it to the barn without incident, and stepped inside. It stank–bad, and Peter did his best not to breathe through his nose, but Louie stepped up next to him, took in a deep breath and sighed, “Damn I love the smell of a barn, don’t you, little bro? Go on, take it in, ain’t nothin’ like it.”

Peter wasn’t about to do that, but surprised himself when he took a deep inhale, nearly gagging when he did, Louie pounding him on the back when he doubled over.

“Aw, don’t sweat it–you’ll get used tah it, trust me. Come on, Sam oughta be over here.” Peter followed his big brother past the various stalls and the animals there, until they came to one, and Peter initially thought it was a pig, naked on all fours, it’s head stuffed in a trough. “Here he is, Sam sure does love life on the farm–in fact, I don’t think he wants tah leave, do ya Sam?”

The pig looked up at the sound of the Louie saying his name, and Peter’s jaw dropped–it wasn’t a pig at all–it was his son. His son was naked, on his hands and knees in the barn stall, face covered with slop, his body covered with filth, and with an approving snort towards Louie, Sam went back to cleaning out his trough. Peter saw that his son was no longer slender like his father–but fat. Just…fat, well over 500 pounds, his belly actually brushing the straw on the ground. It was disgusting, and he looked over at Louie, only to find his brother lustily staring at his fat, filthy nephew, massaging his cock through his overalls.

“What the fuck Louie? What the fuck did you do to him?” Peter said, fear and anger shaking his body.

“Well, ya told me Sam was having trouble at home and school, so I took care of it,” Louie said, walking over and patting Sam on the back, “I gave him a new home here, with his uncle out in the barn, and he’s too stupid for school now, so no worries there. Trust me, he’s gonna be real happy here, and I have a good feeling that yer gonna be happy here too.” Peter didn’t know what Louie meant by that, but he wasn’t about to find out. He backed up a few steps, shaking his head, but Louie said, “Stop moving,” and Peter’s feet rooted to the ground where he stood.

“What…what the fuck?” Peter said, trying to move.

“You can fight all you want, it won’t work. Goodness, I sure fought it when Great Uncle Mick dressed me up in them, and Sam fought it too, trust me, but we all give in eventually. You’ll love it soon enough, bro, just trust me,” Louie said, walking over, standing close enough for Peter to smell his filthy musk, “Now kiss me bro, while that fat pig boy a yers finishes his dinner.”

Peter couldn’t fight it, and he kissed his brother, his stomach churning in disgust as it happened, keeping his eyes closed, but he could still feel Louie’s beard scraping across his face, his hard cock grinding against his own, hear Sam devouring his slop and licking the metal clean. Louie pulled away after a couple of minutes when he heard Sam finish up, and walked back over to the pig. “Please Louie, please don’t do this.”

“Oh fuck you, Peter–you’ve had this coming, thinkin’ yer so high ‘n mighty. But we belong on the farm man, this is where the family oughta be. Ya gotta let loose, give up some control. Yer way too high strung. Here, git over here ‘n fuck this pig’s ass–that’ll loosen ya up–he’s got a great hole this one, nice ‘n tight,” Louie said, and slapped Sam’s ass cheek, the pig giving a grunt of approval.

“No, no I’m not going to do this, I’m not…”

Peter took a few steps forward, his hand reaching down and unzipping the fly of his overalls.

“I’m not going to fuck my son, God damn it Louie! Louie, fucking quit it!”

His cock was hard, why in the fuck was his cock hard…and…and dripping?

“Please, please Louie, don’t make me, don’t do this…come on!”

He was there now, he could smell his son’s filthy body, see the shit caked in his ass crack. He spread the cheeks apart, his cock so damn hard, and started working it into Sam’s asshole.

“Louie! Louie, please! Don’t do this, this is so fucking wrong!”

He was fucking his son. He was fucking his fat son’s hole, driving his cock in, and it felt…so damn good. It was tight, tighter than his wife’s pussy, so damn tight.

“Yeah, that’s it little bro,” Louie said, his own cock out of his overalls, “It feels good fucking yer boy, don’t it? Yer big fat piggy son? Yer damn proud a him, ain’t ya? Isn’t he a good lookin’ pig? Ain’t his ass nice and tight, like ya want?”

Peter shuddered, listening to his big brother’s words. His mouth was so dry, he couldn’t say anything, couldn’t fight it, it felt so good.

“Ya’ve always wanted this, just let go, quit holdin’ it in, relax. Just relax, and let it all out. Trust me Peter, it’ll feel so good to just relax…”

Peter gave another shudder, and it felt like the only thing in his body with any stiffness was his cock, and then he felt it. He felt himself shit right into the back of the overalls, and then he smelled it. “Oh fuck, oh fuck I didn’t, oh fuck…”

Louie could smell it, and the grin on his face scared Peter to death, as his brother reached around and felt the load of shit in the seat of his brother’s overalls. “Oh yeah, that’s the ticket–I didn’t know ya were intah the real nasty shit bro,” Louie said, “Yer a man after mah own heart.” He leaned in and started kissing his brother, kneading the shit around in the back of Peter’s overalls as he fucked his fat son. “Yeah, now cum bro, blow that load up yer son’s filthy hole.”

Peter let out a loud groan as he came, filling his son’s ass, disgusted with himself, and yet…it was turning him on. He tried to fight it, but the clothes were too strong. They were changing him–Louie was changing him, and there was nothing he could do about it.

“Damn bro, that was so fuckin’ hot–get down there ‘n suck off yer big brother. I have a feelin’ the three of us are gonna be one big happy family from now on.”

It was hours later when Louie and Peter tromped back to the house. It was already past dusk, and they could barely see where they were going in the near dark. Peter stumbled inside after Louie, humiliated, disgusted with himself, and yet hornier than ever. He’d lost track of how many times Louie had made him cum–with his face buried in Sam’s filthy ass crack, with Louie’s cock crammed up his own shitty hole, while he was wallowing in Louie’s piss after he’d set his own uncontrollably, and he wanted more, oh fuck if he didn’t want more of everything. Still, he was hungry more than anything, but Louie wouldn’t feed him until he’d made the call.

He walked over to the phone and dialed his home number.

“Hello?“

“Hey Trish.”

“Oh hey Peter, what’s up? Why aren’t you home yet?”

“Well, Sam’s really enjoying himself here, actually. It’s been a real change for the better.”

“Really? Oh thank god, that’s great.”

“Yeah, he actually wants to stay for another…another week. And I forgot how peaceful it is out here, so I’m gonna stay here with him.”

“Oh, well alright. Tell Louie I said hi.”

“I will…Love…Love you…”

“I love you too.”

“Bye…” Peter said, and hung up the phone, licking his lips. Louie was already naked, sitting on the homemade rim seat, and Peter got down and crawled underneath, licking at his brother’s hole, his stomach growling, wishing he hadn’t had to tell those two lies. Truth was, he didn’t think he and Sam would be staying for just another week–he had a feeling it was going to be a much longer stay than that. And he also didn’t really love his wife, not any more, not like he loved his family. Family was the most important. Family was where he and his son really belonged.