God, what was wrong with him? He couldn’t…God he was drunk, why was he drunk? He’d been about to bust those drug dealers the force had been hunting down for weeks, and then…

Carl took a drag off his cigarette and stroked his cock through his jock. What had he been thinking about? Fuck, he was horny, he needed a good fuck…didn’t he? No, he needed…he needed to do something, go back to base, or home…or something.

“Hey man, what are you doing down there?” a voice said, and looking up the stairs, Carl saw some Latin thug looking down at him, smoking like him, tattooed all over, leering at him in a way that only made Carl’s dick harder.

A few minutes later, he was up against the wall in the stairwell, taking Angelo’s hard cock in his ass, yeah, Angelo was right, he was his bitch, and Angelo was his pimp…right? Well, it didn’t make much sense, but nothing made much sense right now. When Angelo came hard up his hole, and dragged him back upstairs, Carl vaguely remembered bursting into the apartment with the other whores, and then smoke—it had burned, and he’d run to the stairs…

Inside the apartment, all his fellow whores were serving the gang—like they should. They were all just stupid whores—they only dressed up like cops for fun after all, yeah—that made sense. Angelo pulled him over and shoved his dick into Carl’s mouth, and he started sucking as best he could, happy to serve his pimp.

The Silent Auction

***Plenty of extreme stuff in this one, I don’t really want to bother listing it. Just consider yourself warned. Check the tags if you’re curious.***

Mitch didn’t know what they were doing to him, the men who’d grabbed him as soon as he’d stepped into the warehouse, throwing a bag over his head and dragging him away, kicking and shouting, but he’d come alone, like the message had said–he hadn’t exactly had much of a choice. But still, he was the god-damn chief of police, and he should have known that this was a trap. The men stripped him down suddenly, cutting the clothes off of him before fastening heavy iron shackles around his wrists and ankles, and shoving him up some stairs and ripping the hood away as they did, but before he could turn around, they’d shut a door, trapping him in a small glass box, barely larger than a coffin, with a bright light in the top casting a harsh light down on his pudgy, old body.

He threw himself at the glass walls, but they weren’t glass at all–just very hard plastic–and even if it had been breakable, he would never have been able to build up the momentum to break it. Instead, he directed his attention to his surroundings, and saw that his wasn’t the only box in the room–there were four others. One was still empty, but in the other three, he saw other men whom he recognized. Sam Raymond, the mayor. Rudy Garrison and Jack Duggery, both members of the city council. He turned to the empty box and saw two men clad in leather police officers disrobing another hooded figure and pushing him into the last box, and he saw Peter McJenson, one of the city’s judges. And him, Mitch Lundon–the chief of police.

“Well well, I see that you all came as I requested,” a voice said, and a small, but beefy figure came out of the darkness, rubbing his gloved hands together, looking at the five men locked in their respective boxes, Amazing how all of you jump when the teats you’ve all been sucking at our threatened.”

The kidnappings, Mitch thought. He’d done his best to keep them under wrap. Five of the most prominent businessmen had been kidnapped two days ago, and the bandit–the man addressing them now, he assumed, had claimed responsibility. Mitch had been furious, to say the least–after nearly a year of no activity, the man he’s sworn to hunt down, after robbing ten banks in half as many months, and costing him twenty of his best detectives, had struck again, and right at the heart of the city’s business community.

The bandit–he was practically legend at this point, a modern robin hood, stealing from the rich and passing on the wealth to the poor faster than the rich could scoop it all back up. The bandit who’d made no attempt to hide his activity or his face, but was still utterly anonymous to him and every other law enforcement body in the country. The bandit who’d…changed every officer who’d ever pursued him. Mitch recognized a few of them now, actually, as some of his most trusted officers just a year ago, before they’d all had their own run-ins with the bandit. In fact, these were the one’s who’d gotten off lucky–others had had their heads so twisted that…well…the sights hadn’t been pretty. And now, seeing what the bandit had managed, well…Mitch was scared to death. He’d only been thinking of himself, when he’d gotten the message from the bandit, telling him to come here, alone, or he’d air out the fact that Mitch had been lining his pockets with personal bribes from every one of the business men that had been kidnapped–apparently the other four had received similar threats.

“So,” the bandit continued, “I suppose you’re all wondering why I asked you all here, and what this has to do with the five upstanding businessmen who agreed to come stay with me for the past couple of days. Yes, I know you thought they had been kidnapped, but I assure you that they all came of their own free will. And now, I’ve invited them all here for a small, private charity auction. Shall I introduce you to them now? How about we bring Ronald out here first.”

The five men all knew him when he came out, Ronald Stein, one of the biggest real estate developers in the city. He was older, but had always tried to look young, but he came out looking absolutely disgusting, clad in a wife beater and boxers, his toupee gone revealing his greying horseshoe of hair. “Say hello to Ronald everyone. In addition to the sweetheart development deals many of you helped him get, Ronald here has also been secretly spying on many of his own tenets. But we’ve helped you out with that, haven’t we Ronald?”

“Oh yes sir,” Ronald said, “I’m not going to spy on anyone anymore, now I just want to watch men strip for me.”

“That’s true–you are quite the voyeur. Now, who’s next? Morgan, come out here.”

Morgan Pullman, the CEO of one of the city’s largest banks, emerged looking very different from his usual self. He’d packed on muscle, for one thing–lots of muscle. And instead of his usual suit, he was wearing leather chaps and a harness, with a whip and paddle hanging from his waist. “Morgan here thought that poor people ought to suffer, but he knows better now, right Morgan?”

“Oh yeah, Mr. Bandit,” the muscular man said, “The real men who need to suffer are corrupt government officials, and goodness, am I going to work them over good…”

“I’m sure you will. Now, Berlin, come here my boy.”

Berlin Hamilton was the son of one of the richest men in the world, and had proceeded to do absolutely nothing with the fame and fortune he’d received. At twenty-five, he’d had plenty of time to waste, but not anymore. He emerged triple his previous age–seventy-five–and hobbled over to the bandit. “I suppose youth is wasted on the young, eh?”

“Oh yes, but the younger the better,” Berlin said, shooting the men in their cases a lecherous glance, before shuffling over to join the other two.

“Younger indeed. Now, who’s left…Madison for one, come out here.

Madison Benoit, the investment broker whom the judge in the room had let off scot free on a technicality, after losing millions for his customers in the stock market crash, had a second, darker side that the five men knew about–he was a white supremacist. He’d done a good job hiding it behind his social darwinism and southern roots before, but when he walked out, that wasn’t going to fly any longer, looking like a roided up skinhead, swastikas tattooed on his neck and permanently bald head, wearing bleached jeans, doc martins and a cruel scowl. “No need to hide those feelings anymore, eh, Madison?”

“Fuck no, mate,” Madison said, “Now you promised me a slave, when ‘em I gettin’ my own personal nigger?”

“Soon enough, just be patient–we have one more man to introduce after all. Roger Merdon, our final bidder, everyone.”

Roger Merdon was the wealthiest media magnate in the city, but the obese slob clad in nothing but overalls who stumbled out, apparently drunk, bore almost no resemblance to the smartly dressed man he’d been before. The bandit caught the man as he stumbled, and helped him over to the rest of the group. “Well, I guess he’s just as filthy now as the shit he has his ‘news’ channels shoot out every day, right?” Roger gave a healthy laugh, followed by a long belch, and joined his fellows, Roger walking up to the glass cases.

“What’s this all about, Bandit?” the mayor asked.

“Yeah, you’re never going to get away with this,” Mitch added.

Oh, now this is a silent auction, gentleman, so no comments from the peanut gallery until after the bidding is complete. Now, gentlemen,” the bandit said, directing his attention back to his group of twisted magnates, “You all remember how this works, right? There’s a minimum bid on all these men of…let’s say, fifty million dollars? Just make your bid on each man, and the top bidder on each will get his prize. If you win on two, you only get the one you bid the most on. Still, you’re used to paying for government officials, so I’m sure this will come perfectly natural to all of you. However, I urge you all to be generous, because the person with the lowest bid…well, let’s just say they’ll regret having been so stingy, eh? Now, let’s say, fifteen minutes to place your bids? Starting…now! And remember–silence please, from everyone.”

Apparently, when the bandit said silence, he meant silence. The room was quiet, aside from the occasional hmm or haa from the five bidders, as the men in the cases desperately tried to get their old friends to let them out and escape–but the bandit had apparently been working them over for too long for them to feel any sympathy. Finally, the five of them finished their bids as the clock ran down, and the bandit took a moment to examine the results.

“Alright, it looks like we have our pairings. So, shall we go from highest to lowest? And goodness, what a high bid–I’m impressed. With a winning bid of five hundred million dollars, we have Berlin Hamilton who has purchased the mayor of our fine city as his personal bitch.

The old man grinned, one hand going down and rubbing his cock through his suit pants, as two leather clad officers opened the glass case and dragged the still shackled mayor over to the bandit. “Now now, quit fighting it–you had no problem with these men buying you before, after all. Now, as far as Berlin is concerned, you’re quite simply far too old for him at the moment–he likes his men much younger now. But don’t worry, at eighteen, everything you two will be doing together will be plenty legal.”

As they all watched, the mayor, who’d been in his mid fifties, started regressing rapidly, until he was in his late teens, but his body was so slender and underdeveloped that he probably could have passed as someone younger. Berlin’s eyes nearly bulged out of his head when he saw his new toy, and he let out a groan.

“Oh, he’s so beautiful, thank you bandit.”

“Oh, I’m not done yet–I know what you like,” the bandit said, and pulled the slender mayor closer, who was still trying to grapple with his own transformation. “Now, Sammy, I have a few things to tell you. You see, your last name isn’t Raymond anymore–It’s Hamilton, and that nasty old man over there is your grandfather, the grandfather whom you want to use you as a sexual toy for the rest of your life. Now, you know what your grandfather likes? He likes little boys, right? So you’re going to have to pretend to be even littler, alright?”

Sammy nodded quickly, falling into his new character, as a tight fitting pokemon shirt appeared on his torso, and around his waist appeared a diaper. He started sucking his thumb, and waddled over to his lecherous grandfather, kissing his deeply, the bandit leaving them to their new roleplay.

“Now, who’s next? Our second largest bid was not nearly so large–just two hundred million, though not a sum to be laughed at. Ronald Stein, please come collect your new toy, Councilman Jack Duggery.” The underwear clad real estate developer smirked, as the officers pulled Jack from his case, and pulled his down to where the bandit stood. “Now, Ronald, what’s your favorite type of man?”

“Oh, I like looking at them all, trust me, but I do love those muscular strippers at all the bars. Just, make him manly–no real twinks, and no body builders either, just, lean and handsome and an unabashed exhibitionist. Oh, and a real big dick.”

“You heard the man,” the bandit said,and Jack felt his body start to contort and grow, packing on muscle, his fat melting away until he could have graced the cover of a muscle magazine, a light treasure trail running up his chest. A short beard covered his chiseled jawline now, and something…a beat inside him…he felt his hips start gyrating, as a pair of extremely tight cut off shorts barely able to contain his nine inch cock appeared around his waist. He looked up and saw Ronald staring at him, and the old man made him feel so dirty, but so horny at the same time, he started grinding his body up against him, making out with him, hungry for his attention and praise, leaving the bandit to tally the next winning bid. “Oh, this is a good one,” the bandit said, “With a bid of 175 million, Madison Benoit has purchased as his new slave the honorable judge Peter McJenson!”

The skinhead stepped forward, and the officers dragged the screaming and struggling judge out of his box and out to the bandit. “No! No please, please don’t do this, I’m sorry, I’m so sorry!”

“Oh, I sense your sincerity, but alas, it is too late for apologies, I think,” the bandit said, “Still, considering how many young black men you put behind bars, I think your new color will suit you just fine.” The judge whimpered, and looked down at himself, as his skin began to darken to a near pitch black, and he fell to his knees where he continued to beg and plead and grovel, until Madison delivered a firm kick right into the judge’s mouth.

“Fuckin’ niggers. Get rid of that tongue–I don’t ever want to hear another word out of it’s mouth. And it’s balls too. And make it dumb as shit–I don’t need it thinking about questioning my orders. And bigger, a real beast of burden for me and my mates that can take plenty of abuse.”

On his knees, the judge started to grow, packing on pound after pound of muscle as he felt his head empty out, and on his knees, looking up at Madison–no, up at Master, all he felt was fear–primal, terrible fear, and he got down, kissing the toes of his boots, silently begging for forgiveness. It was enough to assuage Madison for the moment, and he dragged his slave away by the chain collar it now wore, where he took his new slave’s cherry.

“Goodness, only two left. Let’s see who our last lucky winner is–Roger Merdon, with a bid of 100 million, has purchased Councilman Rudy Genson. Congratulations.”

The officers hauled out the second councilman and hauled him up front, while the filthy redneck waddled up as well. “So, Mr. Merdon, what would you like?”

“Well, I’d sure as hell love someone tah clean me up a bit–think I sharted a bit sittin’ o’er there jus’ now. Yeah, a nice fat piggy willin’ tah get a little dirty, an’ willin’ tah be mah toilet, I think–that’d save me a lot a trips tah the bathroom.”

“Oh fuck no, you can’t be serious, you *grunt* no, please–*snort*” Rudy said, as he started fattening up, topping 400 pounds before he finally stopped growing, and unable to balance on his feet anymore, he fell forward onto his hands and knees, where he smelled it. Something so filthy and nasty and delicious, he snuffled over to his master and nosed at the back of his overalls. It was in there, it was in there and he needed it, when Master dropped the overalls down, revealing his shitty ass crack he let out a squeal of delight and started licking it all clean, his Master moaning in pleasure as he did, the Bandit walking away and over to where Mitch stood, alone, in his glass case.

“So, Mitch Lundon, it looks like you’re the last one. Well, you and Mr. Thrifty over there,” he said, looking at Morgan Pullman in his leather gear. “Get over here Mr. Pullman.” He tried to resist the command, but there was nothing he could do, and so he walked over and joined him. “So, Mr. Cheapskate, you couldn’t even bring yourself to spend over a hundred million?”

“Well, I didn’t expect everyone else to bid so much–I can pay more, if you want, I have–”

“Oh shut up–I told you before, that the least generous among the bidders was going to get…a less than pleasant surprise, didn’t I? But Mr. Lundon, don’t think that I’m letting you off the hook–why don’t the two of you share the same fate? Take him out boys.”

The two cops pulled Mitch out of his case, and two more grabbed Peter before he could try and run. “Now, I’m thinking twins, and I do love the leather. How about a couple of cute cubs, just desperate for a master?”

As Peter and Mitch looked at each other, they saw that they were both transforming in front of their eyes, shrinking to about five and a half feet, and pudging up, their hair shifting to deep red and shortening, full round goatees accentuating the roundness of their faces. When they were perfectly identical, matching leather harnesses and jocks appeared on their bodies, along with two massive dildos shoved up their holes, and both of them looked at the bandit with unbridled lust.

“So, is there anything me and my brother can do for you?” Mitch said, running his hand into the bandit’s pants and massaging his cock.

“Yeah, the two of us have been looking for a big, strapping master like you who can keep all of our holes satisfied,” Peter added coming in close as well.

“Ha, well, I don’t know about keeping you, but I’d be happy to keep you both well plowed tonight,” the bandit said, leading the twin cubs to his room, and leaving the rest of the men to their pleasures, wiring the millions he’d just made from the auction to the charities he’d chosen earlier. They might all have been selfish whores before, but at least now no one would mistake them for what they really were–and if he could help people in the city, then all the better.

There are spirits that live in mirrors–the beings which mimic us as our reflections, and as of late, they have become rather intrigued by this new love of people taking pictures of themselves with the little hand held devices they call smartphones. These spirits, though, while usually friendly, aren’t above being a bit meddlesome. They’ve found that, by twisting the image that gets sent back to the lens, they can radically alter the world outside their mirror, and Max was unlucky enough to be their next victim.

They’d watched him for weeks now, berating the black men who came into the locker room to change, especially the larger, out of shape ones, and the mirror spirits thought he might deserve a lesson. He’d snapped the picture, planning on sending it to a bitch he was trying to get laid with, but the image that showed up on his phone was all wrong. The man was fat, for one thing–very fat–like “having no business ever stepping into a gym” fat. There were other details that were strange too, like a tattoo across the man’s chest reading “I ❤ BBC.” What in the world was BBC? Even the case of his phone was different–where the confederate flag had been, there was now that faggoty rainbow one.

“Aww yeah, there’s my bitch–you been waiting all this time, just for me?” a voice said behind him, and he spun around. It was Ned, one of the heavy set men Max had teased regularly, but when he saw the fat black man now–and the big cock he had in his hand, Max’s mouth watered.

“Yes sir–you know I can’t leave without serving my black masters.”

What did he just say? Max barely had time to register the words that had come out of his mouth, before he was on his knees, Ned’s massive cock rammed down his throat, and he realized the strange picture was now truth. On the outside he was the fat pig, a fag desperate for black cock, but inside, he was still the same–for the moment at least.

One year of community service for a hate crime conviction? Randal wasn’t happy with the plea bargain, but he sure as hell didn’t want to go to jail with all those niggers, fags and wetbacks–he was too old to defend himself. Then he found out about which community, and what sort of service.

Six black faggots, one for each day of the week except Sundays. He went to their homes, kept house like a bitch, and then, the sex. He couldn’t disobey–the microchip in his head stopped that, and worse he was paid a stipend for his labors like a fucking whore!

Sundays were his only day of freedom, but he couldn’t even bring himself to go to church. How could he face God after what he’d done? Even worse, the men were wearing him down, humiliating him. He would beg for their cocks now. Sure, they told him to do it, but he was starting…to enjoy it. He hadn’t been with a woman in months, and all of the faggot sex was going to his head. If he didn’t stay strong, he was going to be at this for much longer than his assigned year.

Halloween at Pigtown #1

        Harvey parked a few blocks away from the club, looked around to make sure there was no one around who might recognize him, and then climbed out of the car. He wasn’t entirely sure why he had gotten the invitation from the club for their Halloween party, especially since it was a gay club, but he had been known to swing both ways, always as a top, of course. He couldn’t risk tarnishing his BMOC credentials if it got out that he had pleasured someone other than himself. He was wearing baggy jeans and a hoodie pulled up over his head to give him some anonymity, and had the invite tucked in the pocket. After locking his car, he walked the two or three blocks over to the party.
Of course, there were at least five other parties Harvey had promised to attend, about one for each of the girls he was seeing publicly at the time, but when it came time to get ready, none of them had interested him. So instead, he was walking up to the door of a gay club, and the bouncer checking invitations at the door. He flashed the paper, and was let into an elaborately decorated entry hall, almost as though he was being let into an old mansion. The illusion was really quite good, with realistic cobwebs, and flickering candlelight. The oddest part was that the entire room had no windows, despite the fact that Harvey was sure he had seen windows on the outside. It was a bit disorienting, as he waited in line to be greeted by the bulky man dressed all in black, accompanied by a cloak and a cane. Next to him were two more overly muscled bouncers handing out costumes to the revelers, and directing them to a wall of changing rooms.
After a minute or two, Harvey was at the front of the line, and the man shook his hand. “Ah, Harvey Mansfield, the star quarterback! So glad you could fit us into your busy Halloween schedule,” he said, and then handed him a pile of clothes, “Jerome will direct you to your changing room. Enjoy the night!”
The large black bouncer directed Harvey quickly to a room, and nearly shoved him in, even before Harvey could realize what had happened. How had that man recognized him so quickly, and in his disguise? Harvey didn’t really care all that much, and took a look at the clothes the man had handed him. The pile was surprisingly bulky, and after a bit of investigation, Harvey saw that he had been given a very large and elaborate fat suit, along with a set of conservative business attire fit for someone fifty years older than him. It certainly wasn’t anything he was going to wear. He tried to exit the small room to complain, but it had been locked. On the opposite wall was another door, but that one was closed too. When he touched the door, a strange voice spoke from nowhere in particular, “Only those in their costumes can enter the party,” and said nothing more, though the room seemed to close in a bit on Harvey, as he continued jiggling the knobs. Before long, he was certain that the walls were going to collapse on him, and in a panic, he began stripping out of his clothes, and the walls began to recede.
It would be humiliating, but he could put it on for a moment, and then find his way out of this nut house without losing too much face. Besides, it wasn’t like anyone would recognize him in this getup. What did he have to lose? He unfurled the suit and climbed into it, finding it one piece, like a rubber body suit. The outside felt unnervingly real, and was covered all over with a pelt of white body hair. The front opened up, allowing him to step in to the feet of the suit, and pull it up around him. The fat suit was sagging, like it was unfilled, though Harvey wasn’t sure what he was supposed to fill it up with. Figuring it would all come clear eventually, he kept zipping it up, the gut swinging over and disguising the closure beneath it, though it too was saggy, as were the arms.
He expected that to be the entire suit, but he felt behind him a hood, which he pulled over his head, revealing itself to be a form fitting, rubber mask. The top was bald, aside from a horseshoe of curly hair around it, and a thin piece of rubber crossed above his mouth, giving him a bristly white moustache. The rest of the mask was covered with wrinkles, and in the mirror, even Harvey had to admit that he looked like he had the face of an old man. A low hissing filled the room, and the entire suit began to slowly expand, however, Harvey wasn’t sure what it was filling with. It sounded like air, but he could actually feel the weight piling on him. It also didn’t slosh like water. When it stopped, the illusion was complete, and the rest of him looked old and fat too. Of course, it still felt like a suit, which was some consolation, that at least it was an illusion. Just to check, he lifted up the heavy apron and saw his own cock pointing out, though the suit had absorbed much of its length, making it appear much smaller than it actually was. He certainly wasn’t going to be scoring any tail in this getup, but then again, he was only going to be wearing it long enough to get out of this freaky bar.
He quickly pulled on the business attire, starting with the very large briefs and undershirt, then pulling the navy pants up over his gut, and putting on and tucking the business shirt in, which felt more like a sheet of bedding than an item of clothing. Finally, he tied the tie around the neck and slipped on the loafers, and heard the door unlock behind him. He took a final look in the mirror, quite astounded by the realism of the illusion, if not the illusion itself. He looked around the grab his real clothes, but they weren’t where he had left them on the floor. In fact, they weren’t anywhere. The walls were beginning to close in again, and before he felt like he was going to suffocate, he opened the second door, and made his way out into the club, leaving his clothes behind.
The room he found himself in was a bar, but like everything else, had been entirely redecorated to look like a seedy biker bar. There was a jukebox in a corner playing country music, and a few guys dressed up as truckers and bikers drinking and chatting all around the room. Harvey immediately felt uncomfortable, and as fast as he could, walked out the nearest door, which he assumed would lead outside, but instead he found himself in a long, dark corridor with the occasional wall and doorway leading elsewhere into the complex. However, now Harvey was completely disoriented. The club couldn’t be that big, the thought, as he started off, dodging the occasional reveler stumbling down the hall. However, Harvey wasn’t used to his new weight, and by the time he had walked fifty feet, he was huffing and panting like the out of shape old man he looked like.
After another fifty feet, all he could focus on was finding somewhere to sit and rest, so he picked the nearest door and found himself in something resembling a strip club, well, an empty strip club. However, there were seats, so he sat down, and wiped his face with his sleeve, desperate to get rid of some of the sweat leaking through his mask. Somewhere in the distance, he heard a grandfather clock begin to chime, and the entire air stilled around him. By the second chime, Harvey had stopped moving too, listening as it rang again and again, and as it continued, a feeling of dread filled his now oversized stomach. It was the witching hour, anything could happen, he though, though he didn’t know why, as the clock struck a twelfth time and fell silent, Harvey exhaled, the only sound in the room, and a moment later, the room was filled with lights and a pulsing club beat.
Harvey was caught off guard for several moments, as he tried to adjust to the sound around him, when he could focus again, he saw that a young, muscular man dressed in nothing more than a thong had strutted out onto the stage and begun dancing around the pole in the middle of the room. “Hey big boy,” he called out, “Why don’t you come a bit closer?” and began grinding his groin against the pole.
Harvey was hot again, but for an entirely different reason. Pure lust and desire gripped him, as he heaved himself up and waddled down to where the muscleman was gyrating. He sat down again, never taking his eyes away, tweaking one of his nipples and rubbing his crotch suggestively. “Yeah man,” he said with a much deeper voice than he remembered having, “Shake that fuckin’ tight ass.”
“I can only shake it if it has the money to keep it goin’ mister,” the muscle man said innocently, and quickly, Harvey dug into one of his pockets and pulled out a fat wallet stuffed full of cash. He pulled out a five, and wheezing a bit, managed to tuck it into the band of the man’s thong. As the man began gyrating again, Harvey fell back into his seat and began tweaking his nipples again, amazed at how sensitive they were. That thought was followed by the realization that he shouldn’t be able to feel his nipples at all. Surprised, Harvey rubbed his massive body, and found that he could feel everything—from his sagging man tits to hefty gut and even his second and third chins. In a panic, he tried to pull his mask off, but found that it had disappeared. His face simply was wrinkled, his moustache was real, and his head was missing most of its hair.
“What’s wrong man?” the stripper asked, seeing Harvey distressed. He hoped down of the stage and began rubbing his hands all over Harvey’s fat body, “do you need a big strong muscleman to make you feel better?”
The lust roared back with a vengeance, and Harvey reached out to rub his hand along the man’s hard muscles, but he evaded his touch.
“You know the rules old man, if you want more, you got to pay more,” the stripper said, now rubbing Harvey’s nipples through his shirt.
Moaning and panting, Harvey pulled out his wallet and shoved two twenties at the man, then grabbed him and started rubbing his face into the muscular chest in front of him. “Fuck yeah, I love the way you young hunks smell,” he heard himself say, but it was true. Harvey did love the sweaty, masculine musk rolling off the body in front of him. The stripper began gyrating around, grinding his rock hard abs against Harvey’s face.
With one hand, he reached under his fat gut and started massaging his cock, but try as he might, he couldn’t get it hard, as horny as he was. The stripper reached down to help, and chuckled, “Having some trouble down there, Grandpa?”
Harvey blushed, but it was true. He hadn’t had an erection in at least fifty years. He’d tried everything—Viagra, Cialis, but nothing had helped, and with his high blood pressure, his doctor had told him it would be better to just live with impotence. Of course, being impotent doesn’t mean one stops wanting sex. Sure, Harvey might get a load out once a month, but that didn’t mean he stopped living his life in a haze of lust. “I just…have a bit of a problem, that’s all,” he grumbled defensively, “It doesn’t concern you.”
“Aw…I didn’t mean to hurt your feelings. Here, pay me a bit more, and I might be able to solve that little problem of yours,” the stripper said, and winked.
Harvey was disbelieving, but it wasn’t like he didn’t have enough money. He dug out a hundred, and handed it to the man, who tucked it into the string of his thong, and extended his hand to Harvey. The man helped him up, and then pushed him up against the stage, and began massaging Harvey’s fat body.
“Damn Grandpa, you’re huge!” the man said, laughing, and Harvey felt his face turn redder. He thought about saying something, but the man’s hands on his fatty rolls felt so good, he just moaned, and wished his cock was hard so he could jack it. Reaching around him, grinding his own hard bulge against him the whole time, the stripper reached around and undid Harvey’s pants, then pulled them down and let them fall around his ankles, revealing Harvey’s now fat, saggy and very hairy, ass cheeks. “Damn man, that’s quite a crevice. Good thing I got enough tool to get down there and more,” he said, as Harvey felt the man’s cock rub up and down his crack.
“Hey, wait a minute,” Harvey said, and tried to pull away, “That’s not what I thought you had in mind!”
“What, you can’t seriously be a virgin, can you?” The man said, pulling Harvey close again, “Don’t worry, I’ll be gentle.” With a gradual push, he began to enter Harvey’s hole. Harvey expected it to hurt, and it did, but much more interesting, he felt a stirring in his crotch. Inch my massive inch, the man worked his cock deeper into Harvey, and true to his promise, he was gentle, loving even, coddling Harvey the whole way, until he had the old man begging for more. The stirring in his crotch had grown to a full on throb, and with an experimental grope, he reached down and found that his perpetually soft cock had actually expanded to half mast. At the same time, he felt the stripper pull out his cock, and thrust it back in slowly, making Harvey quiver.
“Oh…fuck…that feels so good,” Harvey moaned.
“Yeah, you old white men are all the same. ‘Oh I couldn’t possibly be a bottom’ they say, but as soon as you get a big, black cock up your ass, your tune changes real quick, don’t it? So, do you want me to fuck your ass? Do you want to be this big black man’s bitch for the evening?”
“Oh god, don’t stop. Take all the money you want, just please, fuck me!”
“Oh I don’t want money,” the black man said, “I want you to dance for me,” he said, and pulled his cock out of Harvey’s ass, making the old man whimper. His cock immediately returned to its flaccid state, and the relief he had longed for was now taken from him. The stripper had a seat in the front row, and eyed Harvey, stroking his thick cock, “Well, go on.” Hesitantly, Harvey began to sway and gyrate as best he could but the stripper shook his head. “Not down here, up there, on stage. Strip for me. Make me want that fat hairy body of yours.”
With a gulp, Harvey pulled his pants up, and slowly walked up the stairs onto the brightly lit stage. Part of him flashed back to his previous reality, and he refused to believe that he was about to strip for a man and beg him for his cock. No BMOC would ever do that! But he wasn’t a BMOC, was he? He was an obese, sexually frustrated business man who would do anything for release, even strip in front of a beautiful muscle man and humiliate himself so he might fuck him. The music was surrounding him, egging him on, and pulsating faster. Harvey loosened his tie, and began to gyrate, while the big black man hooted and catcalled, urging Harvey on to more and more perverse moves. He slowly unbuttoned his shirt, revealing a tanktop stretched to the limit by his big gut. It shimmered for a moment, and suddenly Harvey was wearing a harness with thick leather straps running over his shoulders and under his man tits, emphasizing their size. He took one in his hand, and with some difficulty got it close enough to his mouth to lick his nipple, which made the stripper go wild, “There ya go Grandpa, now we’re getting somewhere!”
As Harvey undid his belt and slid down his pants, revealing the black cotton jockstrap he was wearing, he said to the stripper in front of him, “You know, I don’t even know your name.”
“Well, Grandpa,” he said, still stroking his massive, black meat, “Why don’t you just call me Big Daddy.”
Big Daddy—for some reason, that sounded just right to Harvey. He turned around, gyrated his massive ass and said, “So what do you think of my ass Big Daddy?”
“Why I think it’s just marvelous Grandpa,” the man replied, “Why don’t you shove something up there to get ready for my cock?” He tossed something onto the stage, and as Harvey bent over seductively to grab it, he saw that it was a thick black dildo, though not as large as Big Daddy’s cock. Unable to help himself, he started licking the shaft up and down, getting it good and wet. He bent over, using the stripper pole for support, and after a bit of work, got it lined up with his hole and started working it in, moaning all the while. After a moment, he realized that he was speaking, though he couldn’t control the words falling from his mouth, “Oh Big Daddy, I want your cock shoved up my old loose asspussy so bad, I’d do anything. Oh, it feels so good to have your hard cock buried up there, it’s the only thing that can get my cock hard.”
“Well, see if you can get some satisfaction with that fuck stick there. Big Daddy loves watching his Grandpa shove a dildo up his ass.”
Happy to be pleasing his daddy, Harvey bent over and started ramming the dildo up his ass as hard and as fast as he could, moaning and grunting as he did. He was sweating all over, and his hair was matted to the side of his head, but he couldn’t stop. With one hand working the dildo, he rubbed his soft cock through the pouch of his jockstrap, now even more sexually frustrated. He needed his daddy’s cock, and he needed it soon, or he would never have relief. “Please daddy,” he begged, “Please shove your massive cock up my ass? I need it, I can’t live without it!”
“Oh you fuckin’ slut, “Big Daddy said, “You know just how to get me all hot and bothered,” he said, and hopped up on stage, taking over the task of working the dildo in and out of Harvey’s ass. “You want my cock? Then moan for me bitch, tell me what a sorry piece of ass you are.”
“Please daddy, I’m nothing without your cock. You complete me, even though I’m not worthy. Please, fuck me. Fuck me hard!”
“Are you a slave to my cock?”
“Yes daddy!”
“And I bet you’re a slave to every black cock you see, aren’t you?”
“God yes, I beg any young black man I see you fuck me silly.”
“Well, then it wouldn’t be very nice to keep that pussy of yours waiting, would it?” Big Daddy said, pulled the dildo out quickly, and replaced it with his own cock. While he might have been gentle before, he was vicious and rough now, slamming his massive cock deep into Harvey’s ass with each thrust. Every time sent a huge shiver through Harvey, who was uncontrollably jacking his own hardening cock and panting like a dog. His old body wouldn’t be able to take much more of this, but he couldn’t stop. He needed this young man to fill his white ass with his black spunk. Only then would he be able to cum.
“Yeah, jack that puny cock of yours, Grandpa, how does it feel to be a black man’s bitch? You tried keeping us down, but the truth is, you can’t beat us. All you old farts want our giant cocks up your asses. You beg, you plead, and if you ask nice enough, we’re always willing to be accommodating. Only we can give you that satisfaction you desire. Only we can give that old, saggy cock of yours release.” Big Daddy said as he began to piston in and out as fast as he could. Old, sour cum was now leaking out of Harvey’s rock hard cock, and he was meeting every one of Big Daddy’s thrusts, desperate to get his cock as deep as possible. Suddenly, Big Daddy shoved his cock in and held it there, grabbed Harvey around the belly, and turned them both around. Previously, Harvey had been staring at the back of the stage, but now that he was looking out, he saw that when he wasn’t looking the entire club had been packed with beautiful, young black men. The sight made Harvey’s mouth water, and Big Daddy resumed his fucking, much to the enjoyment of the crowd.
“Yeah Big Daddy, fuck me in front of all of your black brothers. Show them what a bitch I am for black cock!” Harvey said, and the room cheered and laughed. Harvey was embarrassed, but he couldn’t stop. The thrusts were coming faster now, and Harvey was jacking his cock wildly now, aching and shivering with lust.
“Yeah you fucking white pig! Take my big black load!” Big Daddy shouted, and began spraying his wad deep into Harvey’s bowels. At the same time, Harvey groaned and shot his own, much smaller load, dribbling his cum all over the stage. Out in the audience, men were calling him a pig bitch and a whore, making him blush, but the fires of lust continued to rage within him. He still needed so much release, but Big Daddy was already pulling out, leaving him empty.
“Please Big Daddy! Fuck me more, I need your cock!” he begged, making the men laugh some more.
Up front, a hulking black man stroking a cock even bigger than Big Daddy’s said, “I’ll fuck that disgusting, fat ass of yours pig if you clean my boots.” He climbed up on stage, and Harvey immediately got down on his knees and began licking the leather until it shown with his spit. “Yeah pig bitch, oink for me. Oink like the slut you are.”
Harvey did his best pig impression causing all of the men in the room to holler and cheer. They loved him, he thought as the black men got down behind him and shoved his cock into Harvey’s dribbling hole, and he loved their cocks. “Yeah sir, fuck my fat white cunt!” Harvey yelled, “Everyone fuck my nasty sluthole!” The men cheered, and began to line up for a chance at the old bitch’s newly popped cherry.

Aaron had asked the tattoo artist to write “Muscle God” on his back in Chinese–however, maybe he should have been more polite when he had. To say that Aaron was proud of his physique was an understatement and he was arrogant as hell. The tattoo artist had figured a bit of humility would do the bodybuilder good.

It started slow–with Aaron noticing the large cocks of the black men in the gym, catching himself licking his lips before blushing and pushing the thoughts away, but they always came back stronger. He felt so much better when he gave in and begged one of them to let him suck his cock. It had taken some groveling but the man had given in eventually–now Aaron was out of control.

He’d fallen in with a gang of black youth, satisfying all of their twisted sexual desires and finding himself warping more and more in response. He couldn’t get hard without a long black cock in his ass and throat–he longed for black men to order his around. Still, what else would you expect from a man with “Slave for Black Cock” tattooed on his back?

Saul really had been wrong about his new neighbors. Sure, he’d been worried when those black thugs had moved into the foreclosed house next door, playing their loud music at all hours, and throwing huge parties on the weekends. In his misguided judgment, he’d even mistakenly called the cops on them a few times. He’d never understood why the officers never broke up the huge parties–they would just knock on the door, talk to one of the hoodlums, and then leave like nothing was wrong.

Now he understood though–he understood that these young, beautiful black men were his ideal neighbors, how could he have not realized it before? With their young toned bodies, ebony skin, and huge cocks, how could an old, fat, perverted faggot like him be disappointed with that? Of course, he’d needed their help to realize that about himself, but after a long chat, and especially after feeling each of their huge cocks crammed down his throat, he quickly realized that they were right. He was a total pervert who spent his days fantasizing about big black cocks–and he was the luckiest pervert on the block.

Matchmaker (Part 1)

My name is Josh, and I’m a matchmaker. Yes, I know that isn’t a typical job for a guy, even if he’s gay like I am, but the story is a strange one. To start, I have to go back a bit, to when I was seventeen. I grew up with my father (my mom died when I was a kid) and two brothers, one older and one younger. As the middle child, I was kind of the punching bag of the family, and to be honest, it was kind of relief when Jack, my oldest brother, outed me to my dad, and the three of them threw me out of the house.

Sure, it wasn’t easy. I was homeless for a while, but an older guy I hooked up with who worked in construction got me my first job as a grunt laborer, and before I knew it, I was on my feet again, and supporting myself. It was a relief, and to say I was proud of myself was an understatement. The story proper picks up a few years later, a few weeks before I turned twenty-five.


At the time, I had been renting a room from an older woman named Mary in the city. She was always nice to me, and I’d opened up about my history, and she’d really become a friend, more than anything, and the rent was amazingly cheap. I knew that it wasn’t enough to cover her expenses, but I had no idea what sort of job she had. All I knew was that there was a steady stream of women who would visit her–I often came home when they were in the middle of a pot of tea. I asked her once what she did, and she dodged the question–so I left it at that. I made up for the low rent by fixing up the house and helping with the chores, and Mary was always very thankful for it.

One night, she came into my room and woke me up suddenly, told me that she had made us a cup of tea, and she wanted to discuss something with me. I thought it was strange, but she insisted, so in the middle of the night, we sat down at the dining room table, and she told me everything. The women of her family, for as long back as she knew, had been matchmakers. However, more than simply having an intuition about who was suited for who, they had a particular knack for getting two people to come together as a happy couple–though she admitted that their method was a bit sinister.

Her clients, for the most part, were women who had been jilted by a lover, or who were in an abusive relationship. What Mary did, was force the man to become the woman’s ideal lover. Sure, it was a bit cruel, but they generally deserved it, Mary told me. However, she had a confession. She was the last of her line, and had had no children–so she had no one to pass her legacy on to, and she asked me…if I would be her legacy.

Crazy, right? I thought she had gone insane, but I agreed, because–well, what else was there to do? I thought that would be it, but she showed me the entire ritual, the rules of her matchmaking, and the powers it gave her over the two targets. I played along, and the next morning, it was like nothing had happened. However, two weeks later, Mary had passed away, from cancer she had told no one about, and I discovered that she had left everything, all of her possessions, her house, and her savings, to me. Of course, I thought her midnight tale was a joke still, however, a few days later, a young woman came to the door, begging for my help, and said Mary had told her before she’d died that I could help her. I had no idea what to do–how could I lie? So, I helped her. I did the ritual as Mary had shown me, using a picture of the woman’s boyfriend, and I didn’t believe it would actually work, but a couple days later, the woman came back, thanked me profusely, and handed me two hundred dollars cash.

Was it real? I had no idea, but I needed to see it work for myself if it was. I had been working with the same crew for a few years at that time, and gotten to know the crew members pretty well. Surprisingly enough, a good number were gay–though they weren’t exactly open about it. They were all decent men, trying to get by like I was. The one exception was our foreman, Rick. Perhaps this picture will best communicate his attitude.

He was a ass. Just a damn bastard to everyone, and a raging homophobe and racist to make matters worse. Mary had told me that her matchmaking abilities could work for any couple I chose, so I decided Rick would be having a change of heart about his sexuality, and maybe meet a nice man in the process, and I had just the man in mind.

But before I get to that, I should probably tell you a bit more about how my matchmaking works. In general, all I have to do is cast the spell, and things usually find a way to work out. This is what I did with the woman who came to me–just cast the spell and let it sort everything out for me. However, for more difficult cases, I can get more directly involved, and guide the spell from a closer distance. In particular, I gain some powers of suggestion over both targets–so that I can best help them come together happily, and realize how perfect they ought to be for each other. And the man I knew Rick would be best for was Juan.

Juan had been on the crew longer than I had, and I still don’t know how he could put up with Rick’s constant insults about being a wetback and so on. It’s a good thing Rick didn’t know Juan was gay, or he probably would have been fired faster than you could say fuck. Juan had never dated a man, preferring to stay in the closet and the backrooms of dirty bars, but he was a nice guy, so I thought it might be nice for him to have someone around. I got pictures of both of them–since I couldn’t have them at the ceremony personally, and cast the ritual in the morning before going to work, being sure to leave room in the spell where I could get involved. After all, I needed to see if this shit actually worked at all, or if I was just going insane.

I got to the site, and saw that everyone is getting ready for work, and I see Rick and Juan keep glancing at each other, though I doubt either one notices themselves doing it. Rick runs down the work for the day, and I make the mental suggestion that he, Juan and I should all work in the workshop today, while everyone else does work on the site, and wouldn’t you know it? It worked! I mean, it was still could have been coincidence, but hey, I was getting excited now. We broke from the meeting and the three of us headed into the workshop. As soon as I was alone, I decided to take a risk, and said that the two of them should spend the day working naked, aside from their tools, and that no one on the crew would find this odd.

It took a second or two, but I saw Rick suddenly pull of his vest, and this his shirt and pants and underwear before strapping his toolbelt around his waist and putting on his hardhat, and it was all I could do not to exclaim with laughter.

It had actually worked. I hurried over to where Juan was working, and sure enough, he had stripped down as well, smoking a cigarette, and I saw he liked wearing cock rings to work and keeping himself semi-hard all day.

I was so excited, I just paced the room for a minute or two, trying to calm down. I honestly hadn’t imagined it would work, and now I realized I needed to actually follow through with the spell and bring these two together, and I decided to start with Rick. As he worked, I started planting new thoughts in his head, about how attracted he was to hispanic men like Juan. It was hard work, getting him to accept it–after all, going from an aggressive straight man to a submissive bottom bitch for latin cock was a long distance to go–but he got there eventually, and I was glad I was there to shape the spell, or else it probably wouldn’t have worked nearly as well as it did. Slowly, Rick started stealing glances over at Juan’s semi-hard cock and licking his lips. All he could think about was how sexy his coworker was, and how much he wanted that cock shoved down his throat.

Satisfied, I moved over to Juan, and he was easier to work with. It turned out, as I peeked in his mind, that he already had a thing for Rick, even though he was an asshole. I enhanced his existing feelings but put a twist on them. One thing Juan happened to like was chubbier guys, so I went ahead and made him an aggressive encourager. Now, he loved making big guys bigger. He was also going to be verbally abusive and domineering, to match Rick’s subservient role, and as a bit of punishment for his years of being a good guy in the face of Rick’s past abuse.

I was so caught up in his head, that I didn’t notice him move at first, but he was walking over to Rick at the saw, and started rubbing his hands all over Rick’s fat body. “Hey white bitch,” he said, “I’ve seen you looking at my cock. You want me or something? Are you a fat faggot?”

Rick, caught completely off guard by his feelings and by Juan’s dominance, simply stuttered, but Juan shoved him down onto his knees and was face fucking his foreman, Rick just moaning and jacking his own cock, unable to help himself, and the insults and abuse Juan was raining down on him just made him harder. I felt him struggle against the spell, but with some more work on his mind he settled down into it, and I sealed it when Juan came down his throat. They were a couple now, and pretty soon everyone was going to know about it.

Not much work got done in the workshop that day–Juan was too busy giving his new boyfriend a good working over, and I was too busy jacking off while I watched. They also took a two hour lunch, so Juan could drag Rick to an all you can eat buffet and stuff him silly. The whispers flew around the rest of the crew, but the spell made everyone readily accept the new situation, but I could see a few of the men looking a bit jealous, or at least the three other guys who were gay like me and Juan. However, I had a plan for them. See, neither of my brothers, nor my father, were in relationships at the moment–and I had a feeling I had their perfect matches standing right in front of me.