Tag: leather

Christmas III: A Brand New Stanta Claus (Part 4)

“I don’t know, I feel…a bit ridiculous. Are you sure this is what I’m supposed to wear? I mean, it seems to me like Santa usually has on…a bit more than this, and that it would be a bit cold, right?”

“Don’t worry about the cold–Santa never gets cold. It’s one of the perks of the job. After all, it would be pretty hard to work and live at the North Pole if you got cold, right?”

“I suppose…I don’t even know if I…have this thing on right…”

“Well do your best, and I can help you fix it if need be.”

Stan came out of the bedroom, mostly dressed in the clothes Timmy had set out for him. The bright red boots, red jockstrap and red leather chaps had been the easy part–what was befuddling him was the harness, which he was trying to latch around himself, but it was upside down and backwards. Timmy had him get on his knees, and the elf helped him into it, securing the chest straps, but Stan saw one final strap running down his chest and past his belly. “I don’t get this thing–where’s that supposed to go?”

“Stand back up, and I’ll fix it for you,” Timmy said. Stand got back up, he slipped the leather strap under the waistband of the chaps, pulled down the jockstrap pouch, and quickly maneuvered the cockring around Stan’s cock. This, sadly, was the one area where Stan was a bit lacking–he’d had to swap out the ring to better fit his relatively small girth, and his cock was only two inches when hard. Still, Santa’s always had a surprising amount of control over their own body–how else could they fit down any chimney so easily? Timmy had a feeling that when he returned, Stan would be plenty well endowed. “There–perfect! You look great.”

Stan knew there was something wrong here, but he…he couldn’t figure out what. In fact, so much seemed off up here, and yet he nothing had fazed his usually prudish self. “A-Alright. If you say so.”

“Now, let’s go over the list again. In most cases, it’s a simple drop–get down, leave the present, and take off again. However, a good number of men around the world have been incredibly naughty this year, and so they’re going to need a more personal touch. They don’t get gifts at all–instead, you get to punish them as you see fit.”

“Those are the red names, right?”

“Yep.”

“Alright–any questions?”

“I…If I get into trouble, can I contact you?”

Timmy shook his head, “Not easily. But you can do this! The first round is always a bit rough, but if you stick to the list, you’ll be fine.”

“What if I don’t finish in time?”

“Santa always finishes on time, don’t worry about that. Now come on, we’re almost ready for launch–you need to get on your way, Santa Stan.”

They walked to the door of the house, but in the doorway, Stan suddenly froze. He…he couldn’t go out looking like this. He couldn’t do any of this. This was a terrible idea, what in the world had he been thinking? He backed up, shivering and shaking, and Timmy followed him. “Stan, it’s going to be fine.”

“How can you just say that?”

“Because we’ve been doing this for millennia. It’s going to be fine.” It obviously wasn’t helping, so Timmy started rustling around in the pockets of the leather vest he was wearing. “Look, I was going to give you this right before you left, as a present, but you could probably use it more now.” He pulled out a beautiful, freshly carved pipe, intricately detailed from wood to briar, as well as a sack of tobacco. “Here, I made this for you. The tobacco is a special blend–one that helps with courage and bravery,” Timmy said, trying not to smirk. “Go on and take a good puff–it’ll help, I promise.”

A pipe did sound good to Stan. He took it from Timmy’s hands, but his own were shaking too much to fill it. Timmy took it back, packed it for him expertly, and then handed it back, helping him get it lit. Stan took a deep breath of smoke, and it…it was a rush unlike anything he’d gotten from a smoke before. He felt warm all over, but…but especially in his groin. However, the shaking did stop, and he did feel better. More…confident, maybe? He took another deep breath, feeling his cock stir strangely, and then stood back up. “Thanks Timmy. Thanks for everything. I couldn’t have done any of this without you.”

“You’re welcome, Santa. Now come on, your sleigh awaits!”

Stan strode out into the snow storm, still surprised by the fact that it didn’t feel cold to him at all, especially considering how little he was wearing. Still, he felt…good. Really good, all of a sudden. And…and a bit horny? That was odd–he didn’t get horny very often. He’d only had sex around ten times, just enough to get Emily pregnant three times, and that…that was all he’d been able to manage, to be honest. He shook his head. That was a strange thought, where in the hell had that come from? He took another drag off the pipe, calming his nerves, and climbed aboard the sleigh. His reindeer were all hitched, and the sacks of toys for naughty boys were all loaded in the back of the sleigh. It was finally time. The elves were all out on the runway, excited to see their new Santa off, and he gave a wave, and received a loud cheer.

It was now or never.

He gave the call, the reindeer pulled him down the runway, and off into the cloudy sky. Despite the fierce winds and heavy snow, it was the smoothest flight he’d ever been on, Rudolph’s cock showing the way, shining bright in the night, and he shifted course to the first stop of the night, the first of many, and tried not to think about the fact that his cock was so hard, and…eager.

Case Closed (Part 5)

He tried to protest, tried to just get us to let him go, but no–I was tired of his fucking shit, and I knew what he really wanted. I dragged him across the precinct, Walker laughing the whole way, and shoved him into the drunk tank. It was still early evening on Saturday, but we had a few visitors already–it was always pretty busy in here after Friday nights, and a lot of them might not get processed until Monday morning, so the cell was only going to get more crowded. He begged us, through the bars, to let him out. That he couldn’t stay in here, to have some fucking mercy. Well fuck that–we’d be back to get him on Monday. Still, it was another cased closed. Walker suggested we go get some drinks, something which I was more than happy to do, because fucking Dick had only gotten me revved up for more.

Fuck–that was one of the best weekends we’d shared in a long while. Fuck, I actually couldn’t remember the last time we went as wild as we did, though we do it all the time, now. The two of us were already dressed to go out, of course–since our work clothes doubled as our club clothes–the immaculate leather uniforms we both wore fit right in down at the leather bar where the two of us hung out. It was funny though–the club seemed a bit busier than usual–in particular, it seemed like the entire college football team had come out that night, and all of them were poaching our usual hunting grounds, so we decided on a change of plans, and found two young freshman who shouldn’t have even been in there–and gave them a choice. Come back with us for the rest of the weekend, or kiss their fucking scholarships goodbye after they get an arrest record. Needless to say, neither one of them was very happy about it, but we cuffed them anyway, and dragged them home with us.

It’s funny…I didn’t remember Walker and I living together, but…I mean, I guess it makes sense, right? Two top cops? Two burly, leathered up fuckers like us? Why the fuck wouldn’t we live together? I won’t go into details, but let’s just say that those two football frat fuckers were singing a different tune by Sunday evening, begging us for our cocks, our fists, our piss. We did let them go, of course–but put them on chastity probation–locking them both up, and requiring them both to come over for regular check ins and training. Heh, Justin–that’s one of them, this big old linebacker–he’s graduated at this point, and became a full time slave for a friend of mine, this old biker–fucking rough man, but I’ve never met a guy who loves getting beaten up like Justin does. The other, Harry, he’s a fancy businessman now, but I still have his key–he hasn’t had his cock out in over a year, but he doesn’t fucking care–he gets more pleasure out of drinking down some stranger’s cum in a bathhouse than he ever did shooting himself. Still, I suppose I’ve gotten a bit off topic, now haven’t I? I’m still talking at all, of course, because the strangest thing about the case, about Dick, I should say, only happened after that weekend, when the two of us, still reeking of sex, still in our leathers, showed back up at the precinct, nursing a couple of light hangovers, and found ourselves with quite a mess in the drunk tank where we’d abandoned Dick on Saturday night.

Now, this is easily the busiest precinct for drunks in the city, since it’s so close to the nightlife district, but it wasn’t the number of people in there that was surprising–it was what they were doing, or rather, who they were doing. In the middle of the, at this point, rather sleepy throng was Dick–which shouldn’t have been surprising, I suppose, considering how eager that guy was for a load of cum. No, what was strange was Dick himself. When we’d left, he’d been a middle aged slob, sure, but not..this. He’d packed on close to two hundred more pounds, his bare belly scraping the concrete floor of the cell, his several chins disguised by a massive, grey beard I couldn’t recall him having before. He was no longer middle aged, but seemed closer to seventy–his teeth all missing aside from a few barely hanging by the root, his body coated in filth, clothes unwashed, as he begged another man for a load of cum. But maybe I was just remembering things wrong. It seemed like I’d been remembering a lot wrong, lately. Still, we figured we should give the guys in the cell a break, and we took a final turn with the disgusting pig in the interrogation room, feeding him our loads of cum and piss before kicking him back out onto the street. We didn’t mind giving Dick a place to stay on occasion, but he couldn’t very well live here, right?

But the oddest thing? The two of us got to work processing the guys in the drunk tank after we finished with Dick…but none of the fuckers’ intake information matched anything close to who we were looking at in front of us. Like, some of the paperwork told us to expect a couple of young hicks who’d gotten pulled in on a drunk driving charge, but who we found looking at us were a couple of middle aged, pot bellied bikers, covered with tattoos and reeking of piss and cigars. A couple of businessmen charged with harassing a woman in a bar, were now a couple of young skinheads, dressed in camo and rubber, and much more interested in making out with each other than answering any of our questions. Just one fucking screw up after another, and we had no clue what to make of it. Still, I couldn’t help but wonder about Dick, in all of this for some reason. He still comes by, on occasion, ends up in the tank for a night, and everytime the same fucking thing happens. It’s a fucking mystery, you know? But hey, not every case wraps up nice and neat, but that’s the job–now if you’ll excuse me, it looks like Walker’s collared someone over by the dance floor, and he might need some backup.  

Albert’s Last Party (Part 1)

Look, I’ve worked hard my whole life. I saved my money so I could retire and move into a neighborhood like this, a neighborhood where I expected there to be some standards, where I could expect quiet weekends, not like the city apartments I’d grown up in, listening to rude neighbors and loud parties while I was just trying to relax after a long week. Things had changed, however–some people just didn’t know how to respect others at all. Such was the case with my next door neighbor’s bratty son, currently a sophomore in some expensive ivy league college he didn’t deserve to be attending, but now home for the summer making me miserable. His parents were nice enough, but they were jet setters–which meant that nearly every weekend was spent in some other luxurious resort or foreign country, leaving their house in the hands of their irresponsible son, and the parties! They shook the foundations, I swear, and the cops wouldn’t do anything about it, since his father was very active in local politics. So I decided, one week, that I’d had enough.

I had a friendly chat with his father, asking about their future travel plans–they were taking a long weekend to London in a few weeks, leaving Thursday and returning Monday morning–more than enough time for my plan to work. You see, I inherited from my grandfather a…peculiar knack for magic. It had served me well in life, when I needed it–of course I got to where I was through my diligence and strength of character, but the extra boost on occasion did help, I must admit, but I hadn’t seen fit to use it in years. I dusted off my grimoires and brushed up on the various spells I’d be needing, and on the Friday morning after his parents had left for London, there was a ring from the doorbell, and an anonymous gift left on the doorstep–a small package, rather innocuous, with his name, “Albert” on the tag. I counted on him being more greedy than he was suspicious–it was an easily winnable bet, and he disappeared inside with my gift as I watched from the sidewalk, invisible to any normal person’s naked eye.

I waited a few hours. A few excruciatingly long hours, for someone who has some experience waiting. I suppose you don’t know very much about me, now do you? I probably look like I’m in my sixties to you–but the truth is I’m ninety-seven this year–thanks to a good dose of magic on occasion. That said, I enjoy being older–my portly gut, my hairy belly, relaxing around my lavish house smoking any number of pipes from my exquisitely curated collection. Yes, I’m a lifelong pipe smoker–every man needs a vice, right? I have hundreds in my possession, and I know all of them well, but I can sacrifice something I love in order to get what I want, on occasion.

As afternoon settled into evening, I walked from my house, no longer invisible, wearing one of my suits and carrying another package, looking like everything is perfectly normal, and knock on my neighbor’s door. And then I knock again. I can feel him in there, sense that his mind is…somewhat preoccupied, and give him a telepathic nudge as I knock a third time. A few moments later, I hear the lock in the door turn, and it opens, revealing Albert, one of my pipes locked in his teeth, billowing smoke. He’s naked, and from how he’s breathing, I can tell that I just interrupted him jacking off. He’d probably been jacking off for quite a while at this point, judging from redness of his shaft, but that isn’t all that’s happened to him.

Albert had always been chubby, with a shaved head and face, and a mostly smooth body I’d noticed watching him swim in the pool his parents kept in the backyard. However, nearly all of that had changed. He had a full beard, already several inches long. Hair had filled in all over his body, most noticeably in a thick bush around his cock, and he’s packed on close to fifty pounds, a huge belly jutting out in front of him, along with flabby moobs pierced with two metal rings he hadn’t had earlier. He stares at me, not knowing what to think of me anymore, looking me up and down, his eyes lingering over my own pipe and gut, until he mutters a one word question, “D-Daddy?”

“What of it, boy?” I ask, reaching out and twisting one of his nipple rings. He grabs my hand and pulls me inside, shutting the door behind us, gets down on the entry rug, his ass towards me, and who am I to resist such an invitation? The boy has needed a good fucking over for ages, really, and he groans and grunts like a pig, chuffing out smoke like a life long addict, and I watch his hair spread over his back and ass, his beard growing even longer. He cums several times just from my big cock buried in his ass, spoiling his parent’s obviously Persian rug, before I cum deep inside him.

“Tell me boy,” I ask, huffing after I pull my cock from his hole, “are you having one of your parties tonight?”

“Yes…yes, daddy.”

“Good, because it’s going to be a party you and all of your obnoxious friends won’t be forgetting for a long, time. Now go get dressed, we have to get ready for the party, don’t we?”

He stands up, my cum dribbling down one leg, and he turns to me. I can tell he wants to fight it, that he wants to yell and scream, but when I lean in and kiss him, shoving my smoke into his lungs, he simply melts into me, hungry for smoke, hungry for cock, hungry for daddy. So much hungrier than angry, and when we break apart, the thought of fighting has dissipated again. I put my suit back together, and drop the package at his feet. “Here are your party clothes, boy. I have some stuff to bring over, and I expect you to be dressed by the time I get back.”

Indeed. I had initially planned on just taking Albert down a notch or two, but as I’d been dipping my toes into magic again, I’d thought–why stop at Albert? All of his friends deserved a little comeuppance too. And so, I came back with a whole box filled with little gifts, and to find Albert fully dressed in his new leather chaps, vest, boots and collar. I checked his hole as well, and he’d even put in the buttplug without argument–such a good boy already. I set him to the work of filling in the gift tags with the names of all the boys he knew would be attending tonight’s party, while I got to work on the house. We only had a few hours after all, and we had to make sure everything was perfect.

It started out as some harmless fun. I didn’t exactly have a lot of time to try and hook up regularly, because I was usually stuck at the office late at night, and would go in early for conference calls with Asian clients, but chat was easy. I could do it from home, no pressure, and if someone got creepy, it was much easier to just close a chat window than kick someone out of your house–or worse, try to extricate yourself from their place.

And there’s a certain freedom to it, too. I mean…well, it’s hard to explain. Out in the world, I’m Marvin Hammens, high powered accountant. But on the internet, I could be whatever handle I chose. I could be anyone. I would lie. Tell guys that I’m married, that I hate my wife, that I fuck around with guys behind her back and tell her about it later. Or I find these young guys, these chasers, and I tell them I’m a daddy, smoke a cigar for them, rub my gut, watch them cum at the sight of me. I mean, I’m not…bad looking, but the way some of those guys look at you. It’s better, and cheaper, than that free gym membership I never use.

I settled into a few personas. That first one, the married guy–that handle is MarriedandHateIt–I’d play him in the garage, shirt unbuttoned, drinking a beer and smoking a cigar, telling guys about the crazy shit I do behind my wife’s back. The daddy, he stays in my suits in my study, sometimes I wear glasses too, telling all the cubs and boys out in the world how much they mean to me. On the weekends, I’ll occasionally let it out, play a bit of a rough daddy, dumb down a bit, find a few other lonely saps for a wank session. It was fun, getting these guys to see me as something different, even just for a little while.

I do still go out on occasion, and it was one of those occasions that everything was ruined for me. There’s a bear group that meets at a leather bear bar downtown that I usually try to go to every month, and this particular time, it happened to line up with the local leather night. I didn’t own a single piece of leather, and so I stuck out like a sore thumb–which isn’t to say I wasn’t having a good time, of course, but I took a smoke break on my own, sometime after one or two in the morning, and there’s this alley between the bar and the next building, and I noticed some smoke hanging over the entrance. Curious, I walked over, looked down, and saw this guy, clad head to toe in leather, sunglasses on in the middle of the night, and yet…and yet, it worked, under the yellow halogens in the alley. There was someone else there too, a younger guy, skimpy leather outfit, a collar on, shivering a bit in the night air, and the leather guy just strutted over, shoved the cub up against the brick and started making out with him.

I watched the entire scene unfold–it couldn’t have lasted more than six or seven minutes. They kissed, the leather man turned the cub around yanked down his leather shorts and probed his ass with a few spit lubed fingers, before he got out his cock and worked that in next. But it wasn’t the sex that I was looking at–it was the top, the guy in the leather, there was something so…authentic in him, in what he did, in how he handled himself…The guys in leather I’d seen, well, they were never quite the real article. The kind who take you home with them, and the first thing you notice is the complete works of Jane Austen on the shelf, you know? They were as fake as the guys I played on chat. But he–he was real. This was no persona, or if it was, it was so complete that no seam showed. This man existed only at night. He fucked in alleys. He smoked cigars. He made cums shot their loads against alley walls and then watched them lick it up without him even ordering them to do so.

I was obsessed. I never met him, because he left down the opposite end of the alley, and I was too terrified to follow him. I bought leather gear. I shaved off my beard, and left myself with a shit imitation of a copstache. I watched videos, I went to bars, I tried to find that space within myself, that persona, but it didn’t exist in me. It wasn’t me. The leather was always just a costume–a good costume. A costume a lot of guys liked, both through a chat window and across the bar, but I could no longer shake the sensation that all of us were merely trading masks across rooms, no one showing their hand, but I’m going to keep trying. I’m going to find him. He has to exist, I can’t have imagined him. I have to find him, and ask him how he does it. How is he even real? How is it that he can be real, and all I can be is fake?

Commission: Twenty Years Delayed

CAUTION: This is a nasty one.

“His name is Blake Kingston, bitch! He has to be here, you’re just not looking hard enough, ya dumb cunt!” Freddie said, leaning across the folding table and glaring at the middle aged woman seated in front of a pile of name tags. Above the table at the entrance of the high school gym was a banner that read “Treston High School Class of 1994 Reunion.” He leaned closer; she squirmed away from him as gracefully as she could, but couldn’t avoid the cloud of breath which seemed to be some horrid combination of toilet and ashtray.

“Sir, please don’t yell at me, I still have his nametag here. If he’s arrived already, he hasn’t picked it up. Now…if I can get your name, I can get your registration taken care of…and…and you can’t smoke in here.”

Freddie clenched his teeth down harder on his cigar. “You gonna take it from me?”

She made no further mention of it. He gave her his name when she asked again, and she startled, looked up at him. Freddie Williams? Sweet little shy chubby Freddie? She’d seen him at the last reunion, and he’d been so…normal. Still, she could recognize his eyes, through the plume of smoke, and wondered what in the hell had happened to turn him into…this thing. This leather clad, foul smelling, crude, hairy beast of a biker. Happy that she could feel pity instead of anger, she handed him his name tag with a smile, and waved him into the gym. Suspicious, Freddie took it and clipped it to his ratty leather vest, and lumbered into the gym he barely recognized. The school had been through a remodel in the last few years, and he felt almost no connection to the place anymore. He was only here to see Blake anyway–he’d promised he’d be here. Still, maybe Freddie had just arrived first. He hung around by the door, checking out everyone who came in. But the attendees stopped arriving at around seven, and angry that he’d been stood up, he scarfed down as much as he could from the buffet before someone told him to stop, and then started cruising his middle aged classmates.

Many of them, now almost in their forties, had started to fill out. More than a few had grown in beards. Unfortunately, most had wives and girlfriends in tow. Still, that didn’t mean much, right? Hell, he’d thought he was straight too, before he’d met Blake–both times, in fact. He’d taught him how to please a cock back in high school, and shown him again at the last reunion ten years later. He set his eyes on a few men who didn’t seem entirely disgusted by him. By this point, Freddie was good and drunk–the two drink limit didn’t apply when you had a flask of cheap whisky in your vest. He struck up conversations with a few guys, and eventually followed one of them to the bathroom.

Unfortunately, what drunken Freddie had taken to be sexual arousal was simply an attempt at being polite. In fact, the man had excused himself to the bathroom in an attempt to avoid further conversation. When Freddie clomped into the bathroom, came up to the man at the urinal and grabbed his cock from behind, he was less than pleased.

“What the fuck do you think you’re doing?”

“Come on man, I know yer fuckin’ horny. I got stood up tonight, at least give me a load a cum for the ride home, I’m fuckin’ thirsty.”

“You’re fucking disgusting.”

“Hell yeah I am,” Freddie leaned in closer, “I’ll be as disgusting as ya want. Drink yer piss, hell I even eat shit. Go on, take a shit, I’ll eat it out a the bowl while ya fuck my nasty asshole.”

“You’re fucking insane!” the man said, tried to get away, but Freddie pinned him up against the outside wall of the stall with his massively fat, four hundred pound body.

“Fuck you man, fuck you ‘n your fuckin’ attitude. I came in here for some fuckin’ cum, ‘n I’m not leavin’ without you fuckin’ one of my holes. So pick one, and feed this pig.”

The man tried to hit Freddie, but his fist just sank into Freddie’s fat body. When Freddie countered with a slap of his leather gloved hand, the man stood there, shocked, giving Freddie the opportunity to drop the man’s slacks, get down on his knees, and start sucking on his soft cock. Much to the man’s embarrassment, it didn’t stay soft for long, and he let off a moan. As disgusting as Freddie was, he knew what to do with his mouth. Figuring it would be better to just let the brute have his way, the man tried to cum as quickly as possible, shot a load down Freddie’s throat, and then zipped up and fled as quick as he could. Freddie savored the taste for a moment, gave a great big belch, and headed back to the gym. Maybe tonight wouldn’t be a complete waste after all.

He scanned the crowd–still no sign of Blake. Where the fuck was he? Freddie heaved a sigh, and noticed someone across the floor staring at him, someone he hadn’t noticed earlier. He was too old to be a member of his class–short, with a round gut, bushy white beard and wire rimmed glasses, he had to be at least sixty, if not seventy. And something about him seemed…oddly familiar. Still, he didn’t seem like the kind of guy who would be interested in a guy like him, so he steered clear, but as he hunted for another cock to suck, he realized the older man was never too far away, and being more than a little creepy. Still, what could a fat old man do to a pig like him? Freddie managed to scare another ex-jock classmate into a trip to the bathroom, and licking his lips, followed after a minute later. The older man waited a couple more, and then set off down the hall after them both.

Freddie was in the middle of trying to rip open the man’s pants when the older man stepped into the room, and said, “Nasty Slut Pig, trance out.”

Immediately, Freddie’s eyes glazed over, his limbs limp. The man stepped away, not at all sure what was happening, and ran out of the room as fast as he could.

The older man stepped up to Freddie and spoke to him for a couple of minutes. When Freddie shook himself awake, for some reason he couldn’t explain, he found himself compelled to leave the reunion with the older gentleman, and follow him on his hog back to the man’s house. None of this worried him in the least–and that worried him most of all.

***

“I know you don’t remember who I am,” the older man said as he handed Freddie a glass of bourbon, “Maybe in time, I can help you put some of those memories back together, but that will have to wait until I have you under better control. I’m happy the trigger worked for me as well as it works for Blake–hypnosis can be so…fickle at times.”

Freddie just stared at the bourbon, and knocked it back in a few chugs. He needed a drink badly. Why in the hell was he even here, and what did Blake have to do with this old man? “I don’t understand. Why am I here?”

“Because this is where you should have been, twenty years ago. You never showed up, and I never pursued you, because I was just happy you never reported me! Imagine my surprise when the issue was that you’d simply had that nasty concussion. Now, why don’t you go ahead and strip for me? I’ve only seen pictures, but Blake has been working so hard on you all these years now–I’d love to see the changes for myself.”

Before Freddie could process the request, his hands were already pulling off his clothes. Trying to catch up to himself, he found that he couldn’t quite control his body. A moment later, he was naked, his clothes strewn about, and the older man came up and started inspecting him. “Goodness, you are a fat pig, aren’t you? How much do you weigh now?”

“Uh…435, last I checked.”

“And your tattoos–absolutely filthy, I love them. Blake chose them well.”

Freddie stepped away from the man, “Alright, who the fuck are you, and how do you know Blake? This shit is gettin’ creepy.”

“Oh Freddie, the three of us have quite a bit of history together–it’s a shame you can’t remember the first part. I was your psychology teacher, Mr. Weylan. You and Blake were…well, you were an experiment–and a very successful one at that.”

The name rang a bell, but it wasn’t tied to any memories–his head started hurting, like it always did when he tried to think of the time before he got that concussion in that car accident just before graduation. He’d been lucky that all he’d suffered was some amnesia. But none of this made any sense at all. “I don’t…I don’t understand.”

“That’s quite alright–you’re just a dumb pig anyway, no reason for you to trouble yourself. But Blake, well, Blake has been a very naughty slave, trying to keep you a secret from me, and he really must be punished for it. Luckily you’re here now, and you can help me out. Why don’t you come downstairs and into the dungeon with me, and we can see how Blake is coming along.”

Fighting himself the whole way, Blake calmly followed Mr. Weylan down into the basement, where he saw Blake strapped into a chair against the wall, some strange helmet covering his face, pads on his nipples and his cock. Cum was splattered all over the floor in front of him. He was even larger than Freddie remembered–at the ten year reunion a decade earlier, Blake had strutted into the gym, muscle bound, wearing nothing but leather, reeking of sweat and cum. He remembered talking to Blake a lot, but couldn’t much of the conversation. In fact, he’d done a lot of listening, now that he thought about it.

Mr. Weylan walked up to a computer next to the chair, and examined it. “It looks like somewhere between ninety and ninety-five percent trained–certainly enough for a test drive, eh Freddie?”

Before Freddie could ask for an explanation, Mr. Weylan had shut down the program and pulled the helmet from Blake’s head. His friend looked around, trying to process the thoughts streaming through his mind, nostrils flaring, and he dove from the chair to his hands and knees, licking up all of his cum from the cement floor.

“Oh yes, very good Blake, but don’t you see who’s here? It’s Freddie–why don’t you show him some of what you’ve been learning.”

The eyes that turned to Freddie were nearly feral with lust. Blake sprung up and charged at him, sending them both crashing to the ground, Blake burying his tongue and nose in every nasty flap and fold of the pig’s fat body. Freddie tried to push him off and get away, but Blake was on top and much stronger. Seeing him struggle, Mr. Weylan called out, “Nasty Slut Pig, freeze,” and all of Freddie’s muscles tensed in place, allowing Blake to focus on licking his friend’s filthy body clean.

“Goodness, he is an eager little filth slave, eh Freddie?” Mr Weylan said, standing over them both, “I know Blake intended for you to be his bottom. Can you imagine, the two of you running off together? I think this will be much more interesting. Still, I bet Blake is hungry and very thirsty–he’s been down here for almost two days straight! Go on, and piss yourself Freddie.”

The strong scent of his piss streaming from his cock, flowing out from his gunt, attracted Blake down to his crotch, where he lapped up as much as he could.

“Good, now go ahead and shit too–pump out all that nasty crap for Blake to eat, pig.”

Freddie felt his ass loosen beyond his control, his shit flowing out onto the ground beneath him, smearing across his ass. Blake forcefully rolled him over and dove headlong into his brown crack, eating as much as he could, Freddie still frozen in place. He could see Mr. Weylan looming over him, his cock out, jacking off.

“Oh yes, this is going to be a lot of fun, I think. I have so many techniques now! Blake has done a fine job with what he had access to, those subliminals and those skype chats of yours. But now we can continue what we started all those years ago! Why, before long, you’re going to be the nastiest fucker ever–pissing and shitting yourself uncontrollably, dominating Blake here, forcing him to fatten up like you. Maybe we’ll even castrate him together–how does that sound? Make him a real hog. It’s what he fucking deserves, for what he tried to do, the fucker–fuck!”

Mr. Weyland’s cock shot out a load of cum which landed across the back of Freddie’s shaven head. He was terrified, but without any control over himself, all he could do was shake with fear.

“Goodness, I got a bit carried away there, I think. Blake, hold off for a moment, let Freddie here stand up.”

Blake reluctantly crawled off Freddie, and he stood up. “Why? Why are you doing this?”

“Go sit in the chair, Freddie. I’ve got to get your program loaded up.”

Freddie went and sat down in the chair where Blake had been–the seat had an open bottom, and he could smell Blake’s piss and shit in the bucket under the hole. He was terrified, and yet more turned on than he could even fathom. Mr. Weylan worked at the computer for a moment, Blake dragging out the bucket and scarfing down the contents while their old teacher came over and tightened the straps on Freddie’s limbs.

“Don’t worry, when you wake up in a few days, everything will make much more sense, I promise.” He set the helmet over Freddie’s head, and said something he couldn’t quite make out. Then, the visor exploded in a shock of color, Freddie’s mouth went slack, and his training, twenty years delayed, resumed.

Commission: Hey, Daddy

Commissioned by @hughmichelsen

Jerry’s phone started ringing in his pocket. He pulled it out, saw it was Simon, and sighed. On a Tuesday? Seriously? They both had work in the morning, and he wasn’t really in the mood for a hook up. And Simon…well, he was into some crazy stuff. He always wanted Jerry wearing his leather gear, but he’d never had much interest in the whole BDSM scene. The few pieces he had were from a halloween party a few years earlier, and he’d worn them only when Simon begged. Pain and humiliation always ended up turning his stomach more than turning him on, but they got Simon off big time. It was fun on occasion, he supposed, but he couldn’t handle it tonight. He let it go to voicemail, and went back to watching TV. Simon didn’t leave a message, but a moment later, he heard the chime of a text message. Curious, he opened it up.

>>Hey Daddy, call me I know yr horny

Jerry felt his cock start to get hard, but seriously? Daddy? He was twenty-three–a year younger than Simon–and far closer to a twink than a daddy. But damn, if he wasn’t horny all of a sudden. He reached down his sweats and started stroking his cock, reading the message again and again, unable to help himself. After a moment, another message arrived.

>>I know you’re reading these Daddy
>>Tell me about that hot cock of yours I want it in me so bad

His thumbs were frozen over the phone keyboard. He wasn’t actually thinking about replying…was he? He was hard though. Fuck, why the hell not? He slipped his cock out of his sweats–he must be horny because it seemed bigger than usual–snapped a pic and sent it Simon’s way, and added a text.

>>Hell yeah daddy’s hot

After he sent it, he blushed, realizing he’d actually called himself “Daddy.” Why was he even encouraging him in the first place?

>>I love that big dick of yrs
>>You should put it here

A pic arrived–Simon’s puckered asshole. Jerry’s earlier hesitation was forgotten–he was horny, and he could use a fuck, even if it was Simon. He redialed Simon, and after a couple of rings his friend picked up.

“Hey, Daddy,” he answered.

“Fuck…why are you calling me that?” Jerry asked, his heart pounding in his ears, “Look, whatever. You wanna come over?”

“I don’t know, daddy. What are you doing right now?”

“Don’t tease me, boy.” Jerry winced. Boy? Simon wasn’t a boy. What was he even saying?

“Heh, I can imagine you right now, lounging on the couch, smoking one of those thick big cigars of yours, drinking that whiskey you love. I can almost smell it on you over the phone.”

Now this was getting weird. Jerry wasn’t really into role play, and so he paused before he replied, taking a drag off his cigar. He was kind of drunk though–how much had he had? The fifth he’d bought earlier was about half empty–when the fuck had he drank all that? “Heh, you know what daddy likes, I’ll give you that, boy.”

“I bet you’re wearing that leather gear of yours too. Not that you wear anything that isn’t leather, right daddy?”

“Hell yeah boy, got my harness on, vest and chaps, and those big boots you like.” The words were rolling off his tongue, bypassing his head entirely, but what it the hell was he saying? He was telling the truth though, he had his boots up on the coffee table, one gloved hand wrapped around the shaft of his big cock, thinking about the boy’s ass. “Now, you comin’ over or not?”

“I bet those boots could use a shine. You want me to shine them for you, with my tongue, daddy?”

“Aww, fuck boy–you can suck on these until your tongue’s black as long as I can fuck that hole of yours.”

“I bet that harness looks good on you, cinched tight against those thick muscle of yours. I’ve never seen a daddy as built as you, especially one in his fifties. Makes you look so hot, that grey hair cropped short, your thick beard, and of course the hair all over your body. It shows off those tattoos of yours too, daddy.”

What was he talking about? Jerry was the same age as him–certainly not in his fifties. And yet, when he looked down at himself, everything Simon had described as plain as day. He ran a rough hand up his ridged abs to his slab pecs, tweaking one of his thick nipples. Inside his head, he was screaming. This was wrong, all of this was wrong. He didn’t know what was happening, but all he could do was give a low growl over the phone, “I’m tired of talkin’ boy, get your ass over here.”

Behind him, there was a knock on the door.

“I’m already here daddy, come and let me in.”

Jerry set down his phone, wondering what kind of game Simon was playing here. He took his booted feet off the table and stood up, but lost his balance, nearly falling over as tottered to one side. He couldn’t have drunk that much, could he? The world was spinning, but something else was wrong too–this body didn’t feel like his, it didn’t feel right at all. Nauseous and worried that he might throw up, he stumbled into the bathroom, but paused when he saw himself in the mirror, Muir cap on his head, his face coated with grey beard, his muscular chest heaving. If felt like two minds were trying to fit into his head at the same time. One of them, Daddy, was wondering what the hell they were doing in here, when there was some hot boypussy right outside for him to fuck, but the other, the real him (was it the real him? What was even real right now?) was trying to figure out what had happened. This wasn’t right, this wasn’t what he was supposed to look like, and yet, he looked exactly like Simon had described.

Simon. There was another, more insistent knock on the door. Simon had done something to him, but what? This was crazy, people couldn’t just…change like this! But what else could it be? That freak. He was gonna get it. Yeah, he was gonna pummel that boy good, and then plow that hole deep with his cock, fuck yeah. That’s what you get for messing with Daddy.

Growling, he stalked to the front door and flung it open. Simon stood there on the porch, shivering in the cold evening air, dressed in tight leather pants and a harness. “Fuck, what took you so long!” Simon said, “ I was waiting forever.”

“Shut the fuck up,” Jerry said, grabbed Simon by the neck (fuck, did one of his hands actually reach around this boy’s whole neck?) and hauled him inside, before shoving him up against the wall, blowing a cloud of thick smoke into his face. “What the fuck did you do to me, boy?”

“Simon just stared at him, agape, “Holy fuck, it worked…it worked even better than I thought it would.”

“What worked, fucker?”

Simon smiled, “Oh come on Daddy, you don’t really wanna talk, do you? Let’s just fuck and have some fun.” He reached down and grabbed hold of Jerry’s cock. He glared at Simon, but when he plucked the cigar from his mouth and started kissing him, Jerry didn’t stop him. The boy’s mouth felt so soft and tasted sweet–he couldn’t wait to see how it felt around his cock. But this didn’t answer anything, Simon was just trying to distract him.

He pushed away from the boy and the wall, trying to get a hold of his thoughts. “No…no, first you tell me what you did. Tell me how to fix this.”

“Oh Jerry, you’re such a bore, did you know that?” Simon asked, and walked up to him, “A boring vanilla twink like all the rest, but this is such an improvement.”

“You did do something to me!”

“I wanted a daddy, and I just happened to have a hair of yours at my place for the spell. No hard feelings, Jerry, but I have a feeling you won’t mind much soon enough. In fact, once you cum in this hole of mine, the old you will be gone forever, and you’ll be my hot, rough, abusive daddy for the rest of your life.”

Jerry just stared at him, “No–no fucking way. This is insane.”

“Don’t mess with a witch, Jerry,” Simon said, turned around and bent over, “Now get over here and plow me, I need your seed.”

“You can’t just fuckin’ erase me! I have a job! People will notice I’m gone.”

“Oh the spell is much too complex to be tricked by that,” Simon said, “Once you shoot, reality will warp around you–no one will think anything’s amiss at all. Now, get over here, I’m done talking–it’s time to fuck.”

Jerry backed away, and Simon followed him across the room, laughing as he tried to get away. Finally, Jerry stumbled against the coffee table and tumbled onto the couch, and Simon leapt onto him, pinning him there, grabbing each of Jerry’s thick nipples and giving them a twist, grinding his ass against Jerry’s rigid shaft.

“You know what your problem is Daddy? You think too much. Good thing you’re just a dumb brute. Yeah, a violent, rough brute–you don’t need to think when you can solve your problems with those fists of yours.”

“No…no, fuckin’ shut up, boy!” Jerry shouted, but he could already feel the edges of his mind dulling, and in their place came a deep well of anger he’d never felt before.

“Yeah, just a stupid, muscle bound, aggressive daddy. That’s all you are now!”

“I said shut the fuck up!” Jerry screamed, grabbed Simon around the waist, sat up and threw him over his lap. He ripped open the back of Simon’s leather pants and started slamming his palm against his ass cheeks, “Don’t call me stupid! I ain’t smart, but I can still throw ya round the room if I gotta, boy! Now fuckin’ count ‘em out, bitch.”

Simon enjoyed the paddling a whole lot more than Jerry would have liked, but he’d have plenty of time to teach him some real discipline later. He finished up after twenty smacks, and he couldn’t resist anymore. He slid one thick finger into Simon’s ass, and then another one. “Oh Daddy, go on, taste that boy hole, I know you love the taste of boy butt.”

Simon crawled forward on the couch, and Jerry got down behind him, running his beard against the boy’s soft crack, probing deep with his tongue, getting the hole good and slick. When it was loose, he got up, lined the head of his cock up with the hole, and drove it in deep with one thrust. Simon groaned loudly, but Jerry’s simple mind could only focus on one thing–fucking. “Yeah, you’re gonna get it boy, this what you get for messin’ with Daddy!”

“Fuck yeah Daddy, pump me full of your seed!”

Through the fog of his mind, Jerry realized too late that Simon had tricked him into giving him exactly what he wanted. He tried to stop, but his body refused to obey him, no matter how hard he fought. His load was building and he exploded deep in Simon’s ass, and as he shot, he felt the final shreds of his old mind rip apart and scatter like ash on the wind…but that wasn’t the only thing coming apart. Looking around him, the world was bending and warping, even Simon beneath him. The spell was warping everything, and he pulled his cock free and stumbled through the mess of reality until everything finally came to rest.

Looking around, his apartment was gone. He didn’t live in an apartment anymore–he lived in a house–and he was in his basement. No, his dungeon. Yeah, his dungeon, where he trained his boys and pigs…yeah, that’s right. What had he been thinking about? He was certain there was something else he should be remembering, but he couldn’t think of what, and the sensation faded away quickly. He licked his bearded lips–a cigar, where was his cigar? He lit himself a new one from a humidor against the wall, and sighed a thick cloud of smoke.

“Oh…oh no, what the…what the fuck happened? This isn’t right…”

Jerry looked over his shoulder and saw his pig Simon standing in front of the full length mirrors that lined one side of the dungeon. He’d picked him up a few years ago–Simon had wanted to be one of his boys, but the fucker had a huge attitude problem. Jerry had decided to make him a pig instead–a hot, nasty muscle pig, and the work was showing nicely. At five foot seven, the two hundred and fifty pounds of muscle and fat made him look like a thug–and the tattoos and piercings that covered his entire body helped too. The one thing he had liked about the pig was his masochism–he’d never met someone who liked pain as much as Simon. It showed on his body, which was covered with scars from heavy floggings, his nose bulbous from multiple breakings, his eyes puffy and black. His cock was locked up tight, in a cage lined with spikes. The ultimate torture for the pig–he loved pain so much, once he started getting hard he couldn’t stop himself–he’d broken the skin plenty of times, and Jerry had to take the cage off regularly to make sure he didn’t get an infection. But now, the pig was looking at himself in horror.

“Pig, what the fuck are ya doin’ standin’ up? You forget yer fuckin’ place?” He picked up a billy club as he passed a table and smacked it across Simon’s shoulder blades hard enough to knock him to his knees.

Simon looked up at him, terrified. “Jerry! Jerry, it;s me! Something went wrong, the spell was too strong!”

The club slammed into his mouth this time, hard enough to knock a tooth loose, but the pig ought to know better than to use any name other than master. He loos good with a few teeth missing anyway–Jerry planned on getting them all replaced with gold caps before selling the pig off to a new home. Still, they’d just had a pretty long session–maybe the pig just needed a rest. Of course, he couldn’t let this dumbshit go unpunished–he grabbed the pig by the chain collar and dragged him, gagging, across the dungeon floor to the isolation cell. “I think someone needs a few days in isolation, for all this crap.”

Simon protested, but Jerry tossed him inside and locked him in. Perfect darkness and perfect silence–give him a few days of that and he’ll remember his place. Daddy Jerry admired himself in the mirror for a moment–and went upstairs. As much fun as this Pig was, he was starting to get bored–almost time to sell him off. He had a few guys looking to be trained by Daddy–maybe he’d invite a few of them over and see what they had in them. With a chuckle, he turned off the dungeon lights–he couldn’t hear Simon screaming in the darkness, and wouldn’t have cared if he could have.

Commission: Cory Finds His Coach

Commissioned by: @goodboymusclejock 

Cory watched the scrawny guy over at the free weights, bench pressing the unweighted bar, face red and straining, and worried the guy might hurt himself, he went over. “Do you need a spotter?”

The guy on the bench just kept going. Cory repeated himself, and the guy finally noticed him standing there, and a bit surprised, he lost control of the bar. Cory grabbed it and helped rack it back up.

“You really should be more careful–you should start with the machines until you have more muscle control.”

“I’m–I’m fine,” the guy said, “Just leave me alone.”

Cory insisted on spotting him through his reps on the bench, and then left the guy to his own devices. If he wanted to hurt himself, then Cory couldn’t do anything to stop him. However, Cory noticed the guy was at the gym every day after that, as well. Cory liked to stay fit, and so he went five days a week, but that wasn’t a schedule someone new to the gym should be able to keep up with. Even stranger, the guy was usually there when Cory arrived, and still on the floor after he left. One night, a week later, he hung around long enough to follow the guy into the locker room. He was covered in sweat and obviously exhausted, but in a week, Cory could already see that the guy’s body was growing a bit larger.

His suspicions were confirmed, when he saw the guy pull a pill bottle out of his bag. He took a capsule out and swallowed it down, and Cory stocked over. “You know, if you’re going to take steroids–which you shouldn’t–at least be smart enough to get the shots. Those pills will wreck your liver.”

The guy stared up at him. He was several inches shorter than Cory, but he slipped the bottle back into his bag. “They’re not steroids–and, and even if they were, just mind your own business.”

“Those things can kill you.”

The guy didn’t answer, he just left the locker room without changing. Cory shook his head, and figured there was nothing he could do about it.

Cory didn’t have much time to think on the stranger however–he was busy planning a month long business trip across Asia at work. He left the next week, and when he flew back into town a month later, he was happy to see that the scrawny guy had obviously abandoned his foolish plan, since he wasn’t at the gym when he got there.

There was, however, someone else new that Cory didn’t recognize. He was hanging around the free weights, primarily, a brutish looking guy, heavily muscled, with a hairy chest and a thick beard coating his chin and neck, and lank, greasy hair that kept falling in his face as he lifted. He was quite the nuisance, actually–he never wiped down his equipment, and so everything was coated with a sheen of his sweat. Still, something kept bothering Cory about him…something about the guy’s clothes. They were so small on him! In fact, later that week, he heard a loud rip of fabric across the gym, and saw that the guy had split open his shorts doing deadlifts. Even with everyone staring at him, he finished his reps, and then stared stupidly down at the shredded fabric around his feet, and the yellowed jockstrap he had on containing what looked like a huge package.

Cory was close by when it happened, and he found himself unable to look away. Sure, he was gay, but this guy was disgusting…right? He’d never really been interested in brutes like that before. The guy retreated from the floor and left the gym without any apparent embarrassment, but when Cory saw the ripped shorts of the ground, he realized that he had seen them before–they were the same one’s the scrawny guy had been wearing a month earlier!

That couldn’t be possible. No one, even on steroids, could grow that fast, or like that. But he had to know. He got a chance to confront him a few days later in the locker room, and he went up to the man as he got his bag from his locker. “What…what the hell are you taking?”

The brute just smirked, “I jus’ wanna bulk up man, is all,” he said, “Mind yer own business.”

This close to the brute, Cory felt his breath catch in his throat. That stench–when was the last time this guy had showered? He smelled…he smelled…Cory shivered. His cock was rock hard in his pants. The brute took a step closer. “Thanks for spottin’ me that first day though,” he said, “I didn’ know what I was doin’.”

“It…it was nothing,” Cory squeaked out. The brute lifted his arms up over his head in a stretch and then rested one arm high on the lockers, staring at Cory as he did. The bush of air in his armpit was sopping wet, and reeked. Cory couldn’t believe how tall he was–had he just remembered him differently? He’d been shorter before, but now he was taller, so much bigger than him now. The smell was so strong…so fucking nasty…

Cory stepped forward and buried his face in one of the brute’s hairy armpits, grinding his crotch against the man’s thick thigh. He came almost immediately, and the Brute shoved him down onto his knees, whipped his cock out, and after a couple of strokes unloaded his cum all over Cory’s face.

“Fuckin’ hot man…” the brute said, “Might need yer help a bit more often.”

He left Cory quivering on his knees in the locker room, trying to understand what had just happened. He wiped the cum up with his gym towel, and then started sucking on it, unable to help himself. He tried to shower when he got home, but he couldn’t bear the thought of washing off the stench of the brute’s cum. He jacked off all night long, towel pressed to his nose, imagining the scene over and over, and the next day, he was at the gym before the brute arrived, hungry for more. They met in the locker room, Cory immediately licking up the brute’s filthy body–he dragged Cory back into the shower, shoved him up against the tile wall, and wormed his cock into Cory’s ass dry. It hurt, but he needed it, he needed it so much. The brute came quick, and then pulled out, but it wasn’t enough. Cory followed him around all day in the gym, rubbing his body into the sweaty benches, losing himself in the brute’s stench, cumming twice in his own shorts just from the smell alone. They stayed at the gym all day, and when they went back into the locker room, the man pulled out the pill bottle, shook out a capsule, and held it out to Cory. “Take it.”

Cory just stared at it.

“Take it. You wanna be big like me? Stink like me? Take it, you’ll love it.”

“No…No, I can’t,” Cory said, “Look at you, this is crazy. Just a month…a month ago, you were…”

“I was weak,” the brute said, “Weak, ‘n clean ‘n smart. Now I’m big ‘n dumb ‘n filthy, it’s so fuckin’ hot…You’ll be so hot too, man.”

Cory stepped back.

“If you don’t take it, you don’t get my cock no more,” the brute said, groping himself through his shorts.

Cory whimpered.

“You don’t get to smell me no more. No more sweat, nothin’.”

Cory shook his head no, but watched the brute drop his shorts, and let his cock slip out of his filthy jock strap. It was half hard and leaking; he coated the pill in his precum, then pressed it against Cory’s lips. Shivering, he opened his mouth, letting the brute slide the pill in along with his finger. Cory swallowed the slick pill and then sucked the brute’s finger clean. It wasn’t enough, he pressed in closer, closer to the reeking pits, pressing their hot sweat together.

“I don’t even know your name,” Cory said.

“You can call me…Coach, Sport.”

Something was wrong with him. He was suddenly too hot, and sweating profusely. His body was shaking with energy, not only erotic, but overwhelming motion. He needed to work out, he needed to move and lift and shove and fuck! Coach shoved him up against the locker, they started making out, groping each other openly as men passed by, trying to ignore them, and then Cory dragged Coach into the sauna and fucked himself up and down on the rigid cock, feeling his legs start to burn from the exertion, desperate for the burn. He hadn’t worked out nearly enough, earlier, but when he tried to tell Coach that, the brute told him they were done for the day, and going home instead. He could barely contain himself as he followed Coach home to his apartment a few blocks from the gym, even though they sprinted all the way there, and the next morning, still wearing his workout clothes from the day before, rings around his eyes from not sleeping but desperate to work out, he accepted another pill from Coach without hesitation and they lifted together all day, pausing for the occasional fuck in the sauna, Cory feeling cum leak from his raw ass, sliming the leather seats of the benches that he would lick up, eager for Coach’s approval. However, close to ten hours later, when they were back in the locker room, Coach pressed two pills on him, and as much as Cory wanted to take them, he hesitated.

“This can’t be safe.”

Coach pulled him close, “Trust yer coach man, ya got lots a catchin’ up to do.”

“No–no, I can’t, I can’t do this. I missed work today, I can’t do this anymore.”

“You didn’t miss work man, you got work later tonight,” Coach put the two pills right in Cory’s mouth, “Need you good and energetic, you see. Everybody’s gonna wanna piece a yer hot ass.”

Cory felt the bitter pills dissolving in his mouth, but he didn’t spit them out. He swallowed. He raced his coach back to the apartment, and by the time they got there, time seemed to be moving too fast, he couldn’t quite keep up with what was going on. Coach stripped his work out clothes off of him and then started dragging out a bunch of leather gear from the closet. “Benn makin’ enough as a top, Sport, but the real money’s in bottomin’. Lucky we met, eh? You’re gonna be my dumb little muscle whore slave.”

Cory couldn’t quite seem to make his mouth work right to form anything other then a series of grunts and moans. His cock was so hard, he couldn’t keep his hands off of it. He let Coach put the leather gear on him, cinching the harness tight against his muscles, a thick plug in his ass, leather boots, a collar, a black hood. Coach said he looked so hot, and couldn’t resist giving him one fuck to loosen him up before they hit the clubs.

The night was a blur. Cory was never entirely sure where he was. Coach had him on a lead, and he soon found that it was as much needed to keep him focused and safe–protected from wandering astray. The only time Coach let him loose was on the dance floor–he ground his way from man to man, hot for all of them, his musk attracting them like flies. They all begged the Coach for the opportunity to fuck his slave, and at a hundred bucks for ass and fifty for head, there was a price everyone could afford. Cory knew this was wrong, knew he had been tricked, but his mind was running so slow–he couldn’t keep up with Coach, he couldn’t keep up with the parade of cocks rammed in his ass and throat. He couldn’t do anything beyond allow himself to be dragged all over town until the bars closed, when a few wealthy patrons joined them back at the apartment for an extended fuck session.

Cory woke around noon, and found the apartment empty–Coach was apparently at the gym already, and had left him to sleep off the night before. The double dose still had him reeling. His mind was shattered, and it took him an hour to pick up the pieces and figure out what was had happened. He stared at himself in the mirror. Was he already hairier? Already more muscular? Probably not, but how long until the pills started working on him like they had on Coach? How long until his mind dissolved, and all he could think about was fucking, sucking and lifting in between? He stank of sweat and musk and cum; he thought about showering, but ended up jacking off instead, his nose snorting in his own aroma. On the table, he found a scrawled note with two pills and a glass of water.

“Good job last night Sport. Got us enugh drug this morning to last a month. a few more nights like last night, and we can start buyin r own equipmnt. And rent a big apartment too. Move you in with me where you belong. Take yor pills n come to the gym. I’m waitin.”

Cory was shaking. He couldn’t take them, but he needed…he needed to feel that again. He needed that energy. He didn’t want to be a whore. He didn’t want to be some dumb, hairy, muscle bound brute. But Coach…but Coach was right…right? He’d done a good job last night. He’d enjoyed himself, even, as much as he hated admitting it. He picked up the pills in his hand, and stared at them for a moment, before swallowing them back with some water. Coach was probably getting impatient, waiting for him–he’d taken too long. By the time he’d sprinted to the gym, the world was a blur. All except for Coach, his Coach, waiting for him in the back. He smiled, and went to work out.

Commission: Portrait of a Happy Family

Commissioned by Scot158

Harvey gave a grumble, rolled over, and checked the clock. Ten in the morning–at least it was Saturday and he could sleep in. His friend Jack was going to come over around noon–apparently he had something he was desperate to show him on his computer or something, but fuck, why did he have such a headache this morning?

A cigar, he needed a cigar, of course. But he didn’t smoke cigars, what in the world was he thinking of that for? He sat up on the edge of the bed, pawed open the humidor on his bedside table with a hand that seemed far too large, fished out a cigar, fumbled with his zippo and got it lit, taking his first deep lungful of smoke for the weekend ahead. His head cleared quickly, and his earlier confusion about the cigar seemed misplaced. Hell, his dad had given him his first cigar when he’d grown his first pubic hair at the age of seven–he’d been an avid smoker for a decade now. He got up, wedged himself through the doorway of his room that seemed much too narrow (or was he too wide?) and headed for the bathroom for his morning piss. He couldn’t see his soft cock past his big, extremely hairy gut, but that changed when he got hard–all ten inches, fuck.

He started stroking himself over the toilet, reached up and started tugging on the thick ring piercing one of his nipples. His dad had given him a new ring each birthday, and last year had even let him get his first tattoo along with a heavy gauge PA. Oh man, his dad was so proud of him as he’d stroked his son’s pierced cock for the first time in the shop, leaned in and kissed him, their beards tangling, his dad feeding him his tobacco black spit as the artist watched them, stroking his own cock that Harvey would suck later on…

Harvey grunted and shot his load across the entire toilet. wondering what in the hell he’d just remembered. That hadn’t happened, had it? And yet, everything told him it was real, and why…why shouldn’t it be? He was probably just hungry. He flushed the toilet and headed downstairs, naked, to go eat some cereal. He poured himself one heaping bowl, devoured it, and with milk still in his beard, got up and made himself a second, and then a third, finishing off an entire box. Still hungry, he pawed through the kitchen, cracked half a dozen eggs in a bowl and started whipping them together for an omelette, when he heard the first thump on the stairs.

“What the hell was that?” was his first thought, but by the time the second thump hit, he remembered it was just his dad tromping down the stairs. But that couldn’t be his dad, could it? Those footsteps sounded like they belonged to a monster. He turned to the doorway by the stairs, waiting to see if his memories could be lying, but they weren’t. His father hit the first floor, ducked his way under the seven foot doorway, naked, but so covered with hair Harvey could only see the skin of his thirteen inch cock swinging between his legs. “Mornin’ son,” he said, scratching his balls.

“M–Mornin’ Pa…” Harvey said. Why was he breathing so shallow? His dad dribbled some black tobacco spit from his mouth, and he watched it run down into his black beard. Had he just licked his lips? Why had he done that?

“Saw what you did over the toilet, boy.”

Oh shit, had he forgotten to clean that up?

“I had to lick it up for you, not that I mind…” He tromped closer. Harvey could feel the floor shake with each step of his dad’s huge, wide feet. “Tasted good, but it got me all horny for my boy this morning…”

His dad came close, and suddenly Harvey could smell him. He was rank, as rank as he was. They smelled the same, fuck, they smelled so hot together. His dad leaned in, taking the cigar from his son’s mouth and kissed him, pushing tobacco spit into his son’s thirsty mouth, twisting each other’s nipples, their cocks growing stiff, jutting up between their bellies. With a growl, his dad spun Harvey around, bent him over the counter, lubed his cock up with some spit, and drove it into his son’s ass.

“Oh fuck, Pa…”

“Yeah, that’s my boy’s hot asshole, fuck…”

His dad’s huge hands wrapped around his hips, gripping him tightly, and he started driving all thirteen inches deep inside him. Harvey reached out and retrieved his cigar and kept smoking, reaching under, his cock hard again already, and started stroking. The doorbell rang.

“Oh fuck, that’s Jack…I gotta get that,” Harvey said, but his dad held him in place.

“I’m almost fuckin’ finished boy, hold on, and tighten down on your Pa’s fuckstick, aww fuck yeah, here it fuckin’ comes…”

His dad drove his cock in as deep as he could. Harvey could feel his dad pumping cum deep into his hole. The doorbell rang again, but his dad held him in place until the last few spasms finished, and then pulled out. “Alright, go get the door, son.”

Slightly embarrassed, but without really knowing why he felt that way (after all, his dad fucked him all the time–why would he be embarrassed about that?) he went to the front door, only realizing when it was open and he was staring at Jack in the doorway that he was still completely naked, his cock still hard and jutting out across the empty space between them. Jack’s jaw dropped when he saw it…but he’d seen it before, hadn’t he? Harvey and his dad were always naked in the house–Jack knew that. “Hey man, sorry it took me a sec to get the door, I was, uh…busy.”

“It actually worked, I can’t believe it!” Jack said, and pushed his way past Harvey, grabbed his hand, and dragged him to the stairs, and up to Harvey’s room, he pulled out his laptop and opened it up, revealing a strange screen which looked like some cross between a character generator and a 3D modelling program, and started explaining what it was. Harvey listened, but couldn’t believe it. A computer program that could alter reality? That wasn’t possible…was it? He had felt kind of strange all morning, but now that he thought about it, he was feeling less strange now than before. When he mentioned this to Jack, his friend showed him a timer counting down in the bottom corner, which had about half an hour left.

“It’s still processing the reality change. Hell, I can’t even remember what you looked like before anymore. When the timer finishes, this reality will be completely real to everyone, even you and me.”

“What?” Harvey said, “Well change me back!”

Jack furrowed his brow, “but this is what you wanted–you told me you’d had this fantasy forever.”

Harvey stared at him. Would Jack be lying to him? Hell, Jack could have just made all of that up. For all he knew, Jack might not have even been his friend before this morning, but that was paranoid, right? “Still…still, you should have asked me.”

“I wanted it to be a surprise, is all.”

Harvey looked at himself in the mirror on the wall. How could he have looked entirely different just the day before? It couldn’t be possible. Still…Jack seemed convinced. He was a bit angry though. It felt like he’d been a bit violated. He looked over at Jack, and wondered how he’d like it, to suddenly end up in some big bear body, smoking cigars all day long, covered…covered with fur…Harvey realized his cock was getting hard, and that gave him an idea…

“Give me the computer,” Harvey said.

“What?”

“You changed me. It’s only fair that I get to change you back.”

“Hey, come on, that’s not–”

Harvey stepped up, and blew a thick cloud of smoke in Jack’s face, the head of his cock drooling precum on Jack’s pant leg. “I could always just take it from you, you know. I’m much, much bigger than you.”

“Look man, I’m sorry I didn’t ask–”

Harvey could sense Jack’s nervousness, and he could also see the tent growing in his friend’s pants. He liked how Harvey looked now, but Jack could still use some improvement. He eventually relented to the pressure, and let his friend look over the program, Harvey sat at the desk, the screen away from Jack so he couldn’t see what he was doing, and worked quickly. When he was satisfied, he gave everything a second look, and then hit submit. The change was instantaneous. One moment, Jack was on sitting on the edge of the bed, twiddling his thumbs, the next, Harvey’s obese big brother Jack was sitting there naked, body covered with fur, an unruly beard reaching down to his deep belly button, a cheek suddenly bulging out with a huge wad of chewing tobacco. Jack let out a belch as he sat there, and gave his huge gut a scratch. “You done yet, bro?”

He didn’t even realize anything had changed! Harvey looked down at the timer, and saw it had two hours to count down. Apparently, the program found this change a bit easier to process than changing him and his father had been. Well, their father now. He grinned. “Almost done…I gotta piss though.”

“Aww, I can take care of that bro,” Jack said, rubbing his gut, “Fuckin’ thirsty myself.”

Harvey got up from the chair, and realized he could smell the stench wafting off his slovenly brother. He never showered, and he stank of piss and sweat. He smelled…he smelled damn sexy actually. Harvey shook his head–he wasn’t supposed to think that, was he? He walked over, pointed his cock up at his big brother’s bearded mouth, and started pissing, arcing the piss up, soaking Jack’s face before pointing the stream into his mouth and watching him swallow it down. Fuck, he was so fucking sexy, he hoped he could be as nasty as his big brother some day.

Harvey shook his head again. He didn’t want to be like Jack! Jack was a slob–he was supposed to be…to be…He couldn’t remember. He finished pissing, and Jack licked his lips. “Thanks bro, your piss is fantastic.”

Harvey grinned, happy that his big brother was happy, stepped closer and gave Jack a hug, and started sucking the piss from his brother’s beard, and unable to stop himself, he started licking his big brother’s body clean. That was one of his favorite jobs, actually, keeping his brother and father clean. Who needs to shower when Harvey is so horny for their sweat and stink that he’ll lick them both clean every day?

Something was wrong with this. The program was changing him too, not just Jack, but it was happening too fast for him to do anything about it, and…and he didn’t really want to do anything about it. He kept licking, and when he finished Jack’s chest and gut, his brother laid down on the bed belly down, and let Harvey spread his fat ass and start licking out his nasty crack, drilling his tongue into his brother’s hole. Fuck, the taste of Jack’s ass got him so horny–he had to stop mid-cleaning to crawl forward, line his cock up with Jack’s hole and work it in for a fuck.

Jack gave a loud groan of pleasure as Harvey fucked him on their bed. Jack raised up, in the middle of the fuck, and looked at Harvey over his shoulder. “W–wait a minute…you already changed me, you fucker!”

“Oh shut up, and enjoy it,” Harvey said, and drove his dick as deep as it could go, “You love being a slob, just go with it.”

“Fuck, I fuckin’ reek.”

“You reek so fuckin’ good bro, don’t even worry about it–I’ll keep you clean.”

“You’re fuckin’ nasty.”

“Heh, not as nasty as you are.”

Jack let off another belch and a groan, pushing back to meet his little brother’s thrusts. Harvey finally shot his load, and then got down and started sucking the cum from his brother’s ass, before he licked the rest of it clean. When he finished, Jack rolled back over, and his own twelve inch cock was thrusting up against his belly. “Well, start sucking bro, don’t just stare at it.”

Harvey had long since lost his gag reflex, and he could take both his brother’s and his father’s cocks to the hilt. Jack didn’t last long, and he came a with a series of shudders that made his flabby body shake wildly. He laid there, enjoying the afterglow, while his little brother got down and started licking his feet clean. They were so big! Definitely as big as their dad’s. Harvey got another cigar lit and toyed with the heat on Jack’s feet–the two hour timer passed, and neither of them noticed a thing, until Jack’s stomach gave a growl. “Fuck, I’m hungry.”

“You’re always hungry,” Harvey said, and dodged his brother’s kick, laughing.

“Fuck you, I’m gonna go eat something. You coming?”

“I’ll come downstairs–I need to see if dad needs anything cleaned.”

“You’re such a fuckin’ slut, Harvey.”

Harvey stuck his tongue out at his big brother, “I learned from the best.”

Jack went down and assembled a platter of food for himself, while Harvey went to where his father was sitting on the couch, and started licking him clean too. Jack thought about watching his father and brother fuck, but then he remembered the computer upstairs, and with a grin, he crept upstairs, snacking all the way.

He came back downstairs an hour later, no longer naked. Instead, he had on a wide strap leather harness and some heavy biker boots, and a collar with a tag that read “Alpha” on it. Curious to see what his dad and brother might be up to, he found the living room empty. That made sense though–dad preferred to work in the dungeon, the sprawling basement beneath the house where the family spent most of their quality time.

Downstairs, his father–and his master–was standing behind Harvey, who was tied down on a wooden horse. His little brother was now quite a bit more muscled–his dad kept him on a strict diet and exercise regimen, to keep his slave son in peak physical shape for constant abuse. He was also covered head to toe in tattoos, his face and body riddled with piercings. Master was decked out in rubber today, and he had one gloved fist buried elbow deep in his youngest son’s ass. There was a puddle of cum underneath the horse–obviously the pressure on Harvey’ prostate had made him cum at least twice already.

“Do you need any help, sir?” Jack asked, and his dad looked over at him and smiled.

“Sure Jack–put a glove on. Daddy’s horny for this slave’s mouth, but I want to keep stretching his hole. Take over for me, would you?”

Jack was only too happy to pull on a rubber glove, lube it up, and slide it into his little brother’s wide open asshole. His dad stripped off his own gloves, and went around, pulling the gag from Harvey’s mouth and replacing it with his own huge cock. Harvey realized something else had changed, but he couldn’t quite pin down what it was, and by the time the family was through with their afternoon play session, the timer had expired, and none of them could remember anything ever being different at all. Of course, those were far from the last changes for the happy family of bears, but those will have to wait for another time.

“Hang on, I just gotta take a quick piss,” Nick said to his friend Doug waiting by the truck, smoking a cigarette, heading home from their summer road trip. A biker smoking a cigar watched Nick head into the rest stop bathroom, and followed after him.

At the urinal, Nick felt a hand cup his ass suddenly, a plume of smoke blowing across his face. He looked up, still pissing and saw the biker staring at him. The hand slid up the butt of his jeans and down the back, the biker groping his ass. “Wanna be mine, boy?” the biker asked, leaning in close, “Could make this hole of yours happy as fuck.”

Nick was frozen in place, the man’s hand sliding down his crack, one finger at his hole, “Say it boy, all you have to do is say yes.”

Nick’s breath was quick and shallow, and all he could get out was a stammered, weak “No.”

Still, the biker, chuckling, slid his hand back out, sniffed his hand, and clomped out of the restroom. “Suit yourself. I always get what I want though.”

Alone again, Nick collapsed against the urinal, nearly crying. What in the hell had just happened? A couple of minutes later, Doug popped his head in. “Are you still pissing? Come on, let’s get home before dark.

On the ride home, Nick was silent, and Doug could sense something was wrong, but couldn’t drag it out of him. How could Nick tell him he’d just been molested by an old biker in the middle of his piss? Doug hated faggots—and he didn’t want his friend to think he was a faggot.

Doug dropped him off at his dad’s doublewide and drove off. Nick did his best to forget that anything had even happened, and went inside, told his dad he was tuckered, and went to bed without dinner. Down the block, a motorcycle idled, and the butt of a cigar burned in the dark.

***

It was a couple of days later that Nick came home from hanging out with Doug, and found his dad on the couch, home from work, smoking a pipe. Nick found this odd–his father always preferred to chew, and when Nick asked him about it, his dad didn’t seem quite able to tell him where the pipe had come from, or why he was smoking it. The smoke smelled familiar, and Nick was uneasy all evening until he finally realized it had the same stink as that biker’s from the restroom. Still, it was probably just tobacco from the same brand, right?

His dad was acting strange. He kept…staring at Nick, and not in a normal way. In a…hungry way. When he thought Nick was out of the room, he kept seeing his dad grope himself in his camo pants, but never when Nick was around. His dad broke out the whisky early, and was out on the couch by midnight when Nick went to bed himself. It was several hours later that the door to his room opened, and his dad staggered in, pipe lit, cock hanging out the fly of his pants. He threw the covers off Nick, waking him up, but forced Nick onto his stomach and climbed on top of him. Nick tried to scream, but his father shoved his face into the pillow as he rammed his cock into his hole raw and unlubed. It was quick–four thrusts, and his father exploded in his ass, before collapsing on him, breathing hot smoke and whisky breath onto his son’s neck. Without speaking, he got up and stumbled back to his room.

Nick couldn’t move. At first, he thought he just didn’t want to move, but then he realized, he actually couldn’t move. Another man was in the doorway–the biker, his room full of smoke, but he didn’t say anything. The room was full of smoke now, and Nick realized he must be dreaming. Not all of it was a dream. He woke up, feeling his father’s cum dried down the crack of his ass, but that was normal, right? His dad always liked fucking his hole when he got too drunk. Nick stopped, realizing what he’d just thought. His dad had never done anything like that to him before–so why in the hell had he thought…

The door opened, and it was his dad, morning wood jutting straight out. Nick lipped his lips as his father climbed on him and skullfucked him, blowing his load across his son’s face before getting dressed in his workgear and heading to the construction site. Nick got cleaned up, everything feeling more normal suddenly, and then left and started walking to Doug’s house, when a motorcycle pulled up next to him, the biker smirking at him.

Nick went to run, but the biker grabbed him and pulled him close, one hand twisting Nick’s nipple. “How about now, boy? You’d rather have your hole fucked by your dad, or by me? How about a nice ‘yes’?”

Nick was frozen, but again said no. The biker released him, and drove off, saying once again, “I always get what I want boy!”

***

Nick arrived at Doug’s place, knocked on the door, and was his friend opened it, cigar planted in the corner of his mouth. Nick just stared at him, and asked him where the cigar had come from. Doug told him he always smoked cigars, and pulled him inside. Doug suggested that they take a walk in the woods, but when Nick told him he just wanted to stay in today, Doug instead insisted. His friend had never been so forceful before, and something in Nick…something made him feel compelled to obey.

They hiked out into the woods, and Nick swore that as Doug smoked, something was happening to him. He was getting…bigger. In fact, by the time they reached the river, his friend, who had been an inch or two shorter, was now six inches taller, his body filled out with muscle, and his eyes. His eyes were cruel. They reached the river, and Doug turned to him, “Kids at school–you know, they’re saying your dad’s a faggot.”

“He’s…he’s not a faggot,” Nick said.

“They say he’s a faggot, and they say you’re a faggot too. That you let your dad fuck your ass, that you want him to fuck you.”

“That’s not fucking true!” Nick shouted, but Doug grabbed Nick’s groin in a huge hand and squeezed it until Nick let out a groan.

“Not true? Then I suppose that the thought of your dad’s old cock won’t get you hard eh? I suppose that the thought of him coming in your room doesn’t get you all excited, that you don;t get hard at the thought of sucking his scummy cock? Of taking a load of his in your asshole? I bet you started it. I bet you’re the one who begged him to fuck you, you made your dad into a fucking faggot for your hole.”

Nick was listening, but there, across the river, was the biker. The smoke was flowing over the water like a fog, about to envelop them. He was hard. He was hard, thinking about his dad’s cock, thinking about how he’d gotten his dad drunk and sucked him off that first time, how his dad hadn’t wanted to, but Nick was so fucking horny, he was such a fucking faggot for nasty cock…

“It..it’s true…”

“No shit–I’ve been friends with a faggot this whole fucking time.”

Nick nodded, and was unprepared for Doug’s fist to slam into the side of his face. There was so much smoke, and yet his view of Doug was perfectly clear, the biggest guy at school, he’d wanted his cock forever. He could see the bulge, probably close to nine inches–how would that feel buried in his ass?

“Please…please, I just want…I just want to serve you, please…”

The words were him, but he couldn’t imagine himself saying them.

“Clean my fucking boot, faggot.”

Doug smashed his boot onto Nick’s face, and he licked at the dusty tread, anything for his friend’s cock, anything, he was just a worthless faggot for cock. He licked both boots clean, and only then did Doug reward him, shoving his giant cock deep into his hole, making Nick scream, but it felt so fucking good. Doug came in his ass and tromped off into the forest, telling him he never wanted to see the faggot again, and Nick looked down between his legs, and saw that he’d shot his own load on the dirt trail.

The smoke had cleared. He stood up, and started out of the woods, pleased with himself. Sure, Doug would tell everyone at school he was a stupid faggot, but he’d finally got that massive cock in him. It was worth it. Besides, he was just a worthless faggot, after all, right?

Waiting for him at the head of the trail, he found the biker, cigar burning. Nick approached him, hesitantly, felt the leather jacket–it was too cold compared to the summer air. “What do you say now, boy? You want to be mine? Be my little cubby faggot?”

Nick reached down and felt the biker’s cock through his jeans. Big, but not as big as Doug’s. And he liked his dad. He liked getting fucked by him. And maybe…maybe more guys at school would want to fuck him now. And he knew Doug would want to fuck him again, sometime. No one could resist his faggot ass. “No, no, I don’t think so,” Nick said, and walked on. The biker looking at him as he left, a bit perturbed, but he got on his bike and drove off.

***

Nick found his dad’s truck in the driveway when he got home, and was excited for an afternoon fuck. He went inside, but the father on the couch was not the one who had left home that morning. The pipe…it was much bigger now, as was his father. Sometime during the day, he’d packed on close to three hundred pounds, and now, heaps of blubber cascaded off of him. Nick could smell him from across the room, the stench of cum and sweat and…piss? He stood in the doorway, not noticing the tendril of smoke curling in from the kitchen.

“What the fuck are you waiting for, faggot? Get over here and suck daddy’s cock.”

Nick wanted to ask what had happened, he wanted to resist. He didn’t want to serve this fat, disgusting man, but the smoke curled around his feet and drew him closer. He knelt down, feeling the smoke wrap around his body, dissolving his clothes, leaving him naked aside from a set of manacles on his wrists and feet, chained together so he couldn’t walk upright, only crawl. He shoved his face under his father’s apron, searching until he found his short, three inch cock, and started sucking. He hated his father’s cock–mostly because it meant on fuck was satisfying, and his father said his slave’s ass was reserved for him alone. Most fucks were just his father grunting and grinding his tiny cock up Nick’s ass crack until he came–it was miserable. It was difficult breathing as he sucked, but he’d learned some tricks in his years of service, ever since his father had enslaved him. It took some work, but he managed to suck out a load of cum, but he remained, waiting for…something. He didn’t remember until his father released a load of piss for him to swallow; only after could Nick extract himself.

“Footrest,” his father said.

Nick crawled over dutifully and allowed his father to set his booted feet on his hunched back. He remained perfectly still for hours, eventually cramping in his tight position, but he didn’t dare move. Eventually, he heard the grumble of a truck outside; it was Doug’s. What would his friend think if he saw him like this?

That thought struck him as strange. Doug was no longer his friend….Doug was….something else to him.

“Sounds like your trainer’s here,” his dad said, and removed his feet, allowing Nick to uncurl slightly. “Gonna work on your pain tolerance tonight, he said. I do love hearin’ my bitch scream, so be good and loud tonight.”

Doug tromped up and let himself in–now even larger, his body packed with hair and muscle, wearing leather pants and a vest, tattoos covering his body. “Into the dungeon, slave.”

Nick crawled after Doug into the room which had been his, but which now contained a large selection of dungeon gear. He was paddled and whipped until he bled and sobbed. His balls and nipples were stretched, Doug telling him how, soon, his father might let Doug castrate him, and replace his balls with a couple of heavy, iron eggs instead. Doug taunted him with his ten inch cock, telling him he’d never let a slave as worthless as Nick serve it. How Doug would only be serviced by real men, not faggots like Nick.

The room was filled with a haze of smoke, and in the doorway, the biker.  Nick pleaded with him silently, begging him to be merciful. The biker simply regarded the scene in silence, until Doug finished training and left, leaving Nick restrained on the table, balls stretched out to the wall, nipples dragged up to the ceiling. Only then, did the biker approach.

“I think…I think I will only ask one more time. Would you rather this be your life? A worthless, castrated pig for your father and his sadistic friend’s twisted pleasures? Or would you rather be my cub? What do you say boy, can I have a yes?”

Nick nodded.

“I need to hear you say it.”

“Y–yes. Yes, please.”

***

Nick blinked, and when he opened them again, he was back in the rest area bathroom. But now…now things were different. His master leaned over, watching his leather biker cub piss in the urinal.

“I like the look of that PA, cub. Makes you even sexier than you already are.”

“Thank you sir,” Nick said, looking down at the thick ring in the head of his cock, the piss spraying out around it, some of it splattering against the leg of his leather chaps. He took a drag off his cigar–and shared the smoke with his master as he shook piss off the head, and then the biker grabbed his boy by the thick chain collar he wore, dragged him into the stall, and fucked his hole.

Outside, Doug finished his smoke, and felt like he was forgetting something. With a shrug, he climbed back into his truck and started home, but saw a biker and some disgusting fag leave the restroom together. He rolled down the window and shouted, “Faggots!” as he rolled past.

The biker smirked, “Nice friend of yours.”

Nick looked over at him, confused, “I don’t know him, sir.”

“Well, what do you say we follow him, and when he stops next, we turn him into a nasty trucker, who cruises for piss as truck stops?”

“Only if I can make him four hundred pounds with a tiny cock and a hungry hole I can fuck,” Nick said smiling, and they climbed on their bikes, smoke trailing behind them as they drove off down the highway after Doug.

Mr. Jackson wasn’t quite sure how he felt about his new tenant–in fact, he couldn’t quite remember why he’d even agreed to let him stay here in his house in the first place. To keep the bills paid, he liked to rent out his son’s old room now that he had moved out, but he generally tried to rent to someone more respectable than Randy. In fact, he wasn’t even sure he had a job, and he can’t remember ever doing an employment or a background check on him. Still, it probably wasn’t worth worrying about, right? He did need this month’s rent payment though–it was already two days late. He hadn’t really wanted to say anything about it, mostly because he wanted to interact with Randy as little possible. He heard the front door open and Randy tromped in, looking like trash, and smelling a bit like it too.

“Oh, hey Randy. Do you have this month’s rent? You’re two days late, but if you just forgot–”

“Oh, I didn’t forget, I was just waiting for you to come collect. I’ve been waiting every night, faggot. Did you forget about our deal?” Mr. Jackson looked up from his checkbook, a bit taken aback. Randy walked up to him at the kitchen table and tweaked one of his nipples. “I do like the view though, teasing me, walking around shirtless all day, showing off that old hairy gut. Pig. You’re the one who’s late though–so how about we head up to my bedroom and settle up?”

“I don’t…I think I might have missed something…” Mr. Jackson noticed that Randy was still speaking, but he couldn’t quite make out what he was saying. Still, how stupid was he? Of course they’d made a deal. Randy was unemployed at the moment, but Mr. Jackson agreed to accept his nasty cum in lieu of rent. And if Randy had been storing it up for two days now, fuck, he must have quite the payment to collect!

“I’m….sorry Randy. Let’s go settle up right…right away.” The world was lurching, and everything felt like it was moving too slowly.

“You’re already at the table though–why don’t I just feed you here?”

That…that made sense. Mr. Jackson licked his lips, watching Randy drop his muddy jeans to the kitchen floor. The briefs he had on underneath were crusty, but his uncut, seven inch cock slipped right out a whole in the front, and Mr. Jackson swallowed it down. He’d never sucked cock before, and he gagged. Randy took control, grabbing his hair and ramming the stinking shaft down Mr. Jackson’s throat. He looked up, and saw that Randy was still talking, but Mr. Jackson couldn’t understand any of it. It didn’t matter, he was just a stupid pig anyway. Yeah, just a stupid worthless piggy, and when Randy fed him his first month’s rent, Mr. Jackson begged him to pay him last months too. And since it came at the end, it only made sense to pump it deep in his piggy asshole, right?

There on his hands and knees on the kitchen floor, Randy drilling his dick into him, Mr. Jackson found himself able to hear again, hear himself snorting and grunting like a pig, rutting with his tenant. Fuck, the first time he’d seen Randy, he’d had to have him. He loved renting to nasty fucks like him. Real men who knew how to treat piggies like Mr. Jackson. His cock was leaking on the tile–Randy behind him calling him all sorts of filthy names. So many hot, filthy, piggy names.

He came, his old cock pumping out a load of pig cum onto the tile. When Randy was finished making payments, he pulled up his pants and headed up to his room, while Mr. Jackson crawled back and lapped up his own cum off the floor. Might as well pay himself too, right? He got up and sat down at the table again, sweaty and panting, but he couldn’t seem to get his head back to where it used to be. He couldn’t stop thinking about Randy, about his hot nasty tenant, and finally he got up, panting, rock hard, and went to Randy’s room, and knocked.

“Sir…I was wondering if we could maybe renegotiate the terms of your rent?”

Randy opened the door. He had on his sleeveless shirt still, but was missing his pants and underwear entirely. “And what might you have in mind pig?”

“I don’t…well, I think I’m going to have to raise the rent. Perhaps you could make a payment every…every week?”

Randy smiled. “Oh Mr. Jackson, you’re underselling yourself here. You’re too generous. I’d be happy to pay a pig like you much more than that.”

“You…You would?”

“Oh yes…” Randy said, “How about this. I’ll give you two payments every day, one at each end. And as a bonus, I’ll save all my piss for you in jugs, and you can do whatever you’d like with it. Bathe in it. Drink it. Just think of it as a tip for being such a good piggy landlord. But…well, if I’m going to be paying you so handsomely, I might need a few…well, perks myself.”

“That sounds amazing, sir…but…but what kind of perks?”

“Well, you see….I like my pigs to look a certain way, you see? And I have some ideas for you that might make you an even better piggy than you already are,” Randy stepped to the side, “But why don’t you come on in here and we can negotiate?”

It was a couple hours later, when Mr. Jackson emerged, smiling, Randy’s cum splattered across his face, knowing he had definitely gotten the best deal through some hard negotiation. He was up to three payments a day, all of Randy’s piss (which he’d had the pleasure of sampling to test it’s quality) as well as all of his filthy cum and piss stained underwear, and he would even get to give Randy a tongue bath once a week! All Mr. Jackson had to do was agree to wear leather gear at all times in the house, stop trimming his beard and hair, and go get some nasty looking tattoos.

Still, he had better get going, he had some leather gear to buy. Randy had told him about a friend of his looking to sell some spare gear, and even better, he liked getting paid in blowjobs too! It would probably require a long payment plan, but Mr. Jackson didn’t think he’d mind. He belched, tasting cum on his breath, and hurried out, already eager for tomorrow’s rent.