Acceleration (Part 6)

It lasted nearly a full minute before it finally slowed and Russell could catch his breath, looking at the mess in front of him, unable to believe that all of that had really just come out of him. The smell of it was only making him horny again, and as he idly stroked his softening cock, he realized he could go for another round right now–and he was tempted to do so. No–no, he had to get a hold of himself. This was too much, why had he pressed that button again? Hell, twice more! It was stupid–now, he really was going to get dragged off to some laboratory for experimentation.

He ducked out from under the bathroom doorway, and the air was clearer there–slightly. It at least helped him think better, especially now that he shot his load, and like he’d suspected earlier…his mind really did feel sharper, somehow, though it was difficult to describe how, exactly. He focused on the problem at hand, and looked back down at the watch, seeing if there was something he had missed before on it. The device had recalibrated once more and was ready for another injection…and even if he was tempted, this was enough, wasn’t it? Yes, of course it was–still…he couldn’t help but imagine what he might look like after yet another dose…or two.

He needed to get this thing off of him, and he needed to do it now. He didn’t know if it was addictive, or what, but he couldn’t afford the temptation. He examined it, closer this time, and noticed a small recessed clasp on the inside of the band. It took some maneuvering with his thick fingers, but with a pop the watch came free and clattered the ground, where it shut off. Russell heaved a sigh of relief–that was over, at least. He picked up the watch and set it on the table in the hall, and considered the next problem–the big problem. What was he going to do now?

It was only a matter of time before his parents got home, and he had two choices–he could be here when they arrived, or he could run. But where would he go? It wasn’t like he was going to have an easy time finding a place to hide, looking like an eight foot tall gorilla staggering around the streets. He didn’t even have any clothes that would fit him, anyway. He had to stay, and hope that his parents wouldn’t…freak out. Well, they would freak out, but hopefully they wouldn’t call the cops or something insane like that. So, he just had to sit and wait–that was the best course of action by far.

His eyes flitted to the watch, still sitting on the table, and he looked away again. No–as much as he might…want to, it wasn’t safe. It was so far out of hand already. Hell, he didn’t even look like a person anymore–certainly not like a teenager by any stretch of the imagination, even if he did feel, in some ways, just like that old, small, frail version of himself from earlier in the day…and he hated that. Look at him! He was huge! He didn’t have anything to be afraid of, he didn’t have to be afraid of anything, and yet…he was afraid. He was afraid of that watch, and he was afraid of himself and this body, and he was afraid of what was going to happen to him, once his parents–once the world–found out about him.

But what if he didn’t have to be afraid? If he was bigger…he wouldn’t be afraid then, would he? What if he was so big, no one could stop him?

He shook his head, and looked away from the watch again. He couldn’t be big enough to outrun all of this, there was no way. Still, even if it couldn’t solve anything, there was no…denying how much he wanted to put that watch on, and press that button, and feel that…rush. It wasn’t an addiction. He didn’t need it. He wasn’t shaking, and he didn’t feel sick. No–he could admit that. He wanted it. He wanted to be bigger than this, he wanted to be bigger than everyone else, in the whole world. He…wanted to control it. He wanted men at his massive feet, cleaning them, sniffing his pits, sucking his cock, riding him, their guts distending with his massive loads. His cock was hard again, and he was stroking it slowly, head down near his pits, taking gentle snorts of his own musk. He could want it–that was alright. But he wasn’t going to do it. He told himself that, but wasn’t sure whether he believed it or not, in his head.

He was hungry though–hungrier than he could remember being before, which didn’t seem at all surprising. He went into the kitchen and found as many snacks as he could, and started gorging himself, anything to keep his mind off the watch, still sitting on the table there, when he heard the doorbell ring, and he froze.

Acceleration (Part 5)

It wasn’t mere horniness–he’d been horny before. Hell, being horny was the one aspect of being a teenager he’d ever been able to relate to. No–this wasn’t mere horniness–this was a raw, aching desire to fuck. He wanted to fuck someone–he wanted to fuck a man. He wanted to top them, and drive his massive cock into them–he wanted to feel them squirm, he wanted to…to dominate them. He looked at himself in the mirror and grinned, admiring the full pelt of hair coating his chest and torso now–and noticed that the abs he’d had before were hidden behind a slight gut now. It wasn’t much, really–but it looked good on him, and filled him out. Made him look more powerful and commanding.

The drug was clearing from his system now, and left him feeling clear headed, and sharp. It was like his entire brain was firing on all cylinders–he could feel…everything, but he…saw everything too. Like the entire world was laid out in front of him. Was the drug affecting his mind as well? If it was, it wasn’t hurting him by any means. He gripped his cock and imagined being back in that hallway at school–no, not in the hallway. He imagined being in that bathroom with Jack, shoving him against the wall, grinding this massive cock between his cheeks, making him beg for it before he fucked him long and deep, marked him as his, made sure everyone knew who was really in charge. He heard a beep come from his wrist–the watch had recalibrated again, and was flashing “Ready”. He knew what he wanted–he wanted more. He pressed the button, and shuddered as the drug flooded his system once again.

The fear was gone–he was anticipating it now. His muscles began to heat up once more, but they had already grown so much that the sensation wasn’t so much a pop, as a general swelling. They didn’t seem to be getting any larger, and yet, he could tell that they were growing stronger all the same. His skin, however, was showing signs of wear–he was growing too fast for it to keep up, causing stretch marks to appear all over him, especially across his chest and gut, which was growing fuller now, pushing out into a proper muscle gut, firm and covered in hair. He rubbed it and moaned, thinking about how good it would feel, having it rest on the small of a man’s back, which his cock was driving into the man’s ass. His bones were creaking again, growing thicker–stronger. He wanted…to punch something. Not to hurt it–he just wanted to see how strong he was. It was just–a need.

He looked at the wall beside him, and couldn’t resist–he wound up and slammed his fist into the wall. It didn’t even hurt–it was like wet paper to him, the drywall just crumbling around his hand. He pulled himself free, and aside from a few scraped knuckles, he was fine. The growth was slowing down already, which almost upset him, and he stood up, only to feel his head graze the ceiling of the bathroom.

Eight feet tall–it seemed impossible. He looked down at the room around him, and everything seemed so small and fragile. He lifted up the seat of the toilet with one of his thick hands, and could tell that, if he wanted to, he could snap the plastic with almost no effort at all. How much could he possibly weight at this point? There was a scale in the bathroom, under the sink. He crouched down and managed to haul it free, and stood on it–only for it to max out at 300 pounds. He was over three hundred pounds! It didn’t seem possible–but there it was, right in front of his face–well, under his feet at least, since his face was as far away from the scale as it could get. Looking down, he noticed his feet–how the heels were touching one end of the scale, while his toes were dangling off of it. They were massive, and covered with hair all along the tops, joining the pelt that started at his ankles and worked all the way up his body. The hair, at this point, was growing so thick it was difficult to see his skin in places. He ran his hands through it and shivered–it was almost as erotic as touching his cock. His beard was filling in, crawling up his cheeks, and growing longer–even as he noticed his hairline beginning to recede, two bald spots forming at the front of his hairline and pushing back.

Was he getting older? No–he didn’t look older, but whatever this process was, it was obviously affecting him in other ways, beyond the obvious. Still–he didn’t mind it. He looked mature, and dominant…and sexy. He was larger than Finn now–larger than any man he’d ever seen before in his life. He sniffed the room, noticing a rather sharp funk on the air, and it took him a moment to realize that it was him. He lifted an arm and sniffed at his pit, only to let off a low moan–almost guttural, it was so deep. He smelled…amazing. He leaned back against the wall, feeling it shudder slightly as he hit it, arm raised over his head, and pressed to the ceiling, and he kept sniffing, jacking his cock slowly with his other hand. Despite the fact that the shaft was larger than a two liter bottle, his own massive hand could still grip it easily–even if he couldn’t bring his fingers to touch around it by several inches. Precum started to flow, first a couple of drops, and then it began drooling from the head in copious amounts, pooling on the floor beneath him, adding to the musky scent of the bathroom. He stroked faster, grunting and growling, feeling more and more like a beast as he did, until his orgasm hit, balls contracting so hard it was almost painful, cum spraying from the head and spattering across the mirror in front of him, running down onto the counter as more and more gouted out from his cock.

Acceleration (Part 4)

He couldn’t risk it. He didn’t know what this thing was, or what it might do. Just because the button sent him through puberty the first time, didn’t mean anything about what might happen if he pressed it again. No–he needed to call someone, his parents, and get help. Once this thing was off him, then he could worry about what it was, and what it could do.

One of his fingers traced the button a moment, and then pulled away.

It had felt good though, hadn’t it? No–that was a lie, it had been painful as hell, but fuck, it felt good now, on the other side. He felt so strong, and alive–if this is what it felt like after using it once, then what might it feel like if he did it twice? Still it was too risky–besides, what might happen to him if he got another dose of…whatever that stuff was, after already getting one? There might be side effects, or hell, it might kill him, if he wasn’t careful with it.

His finger had gone back to fiddling with the button, and he didn’t pull it away this time, once he noticed.

He didn’t want to go back, to being who he was. If he went to the hospital, they would see this as something…as something wrong with him, but what, really, was wrong? All it had done was make him normal, after all. Well, not quite normal, he supposed. If anything, he still felt a little…short, and he wouldn’t mind being even hairier, and while the stubble was nice, now that he’d had time to look at it, it was coming in a bit patchy. He’d survived it once–and he wasn’t about to get another chance like this in his life.

He pushed the button in, and braced himself for the sharp stick of the needles, which again slid from the back of the watch into his wrist. He was ready for it this time, at least. Or, he hoped he was ready for it. He…still didn’t know what the button did, for certain. He’d been assuming that it would inject him with the same stuff as before…but what if it did something else? His heart was speeding again, throbbing in his ear–he flexed his forearm, and felt the muscle pop again–the growth wasn’t as obvious, on his now much more developed body, but it was still apparent. The rest of his arm followed suit, and now that he knew what to expect, it was easier–he could…ride it, the pain and thrill of it, feeling his body surge and expand all around.

The bone ache was still the worst of it, but he didn’t fall down this time, even if he needed a wall to keep himself steady. Even that, though, was better, and watching the room fall back around him, as he gained another foot in height–cresting near seven feet–he felt…amazing. Is this what Finn felt like all the time? He felt so powerful, looming over everything. He looked around the room, feeling almost drunk, one hand groping his chest, feeling the firm pectoral underneath his skin, almost hot to the touch. He was big. Hell, he wasn’t just big–big was just the first word that came to his mind, but it couldn’t begin to capture the sensation of this. Powerful was closer. Strong was another. None of them could quite capture it, because it wasn’t just the raw force–it was the comparison between this, and who he had been before.

Weak. He had been so…weak. He couldn’t stop anyone from doing anything to him. He was just passive. But now–now, he could do something. He imagined that scene from earlier, in the hall, where Jack had cornered him–more than that, where he’d assaulted him. He thought about how he’d been unable to do anything about it–how it was just the luck of Finn passing by that had resolved the entire situation. How if this watch hadn’t shown up here, he would be dreading school tomorrow, wondering what Jack would do, since he hadn’t responded to his invitation, for lack of a better word. But it had shown up. It had shown up, and now–now he didn’t have to worry about that. Now, he was going to be in control.

He stretched up, feeling his joints popping and snapping as the last of the growth finished off. It did hurt–but not like the first time. If anything, he almost…enjoyed it. He turned back to the mirror, and discovered that with his new frame, he filled it. He had to take a step back, his back against the wall opposite sink, so that he could even see all of himself in it. The rest of the changes were coming now–the tingle of the hair across his body, but other sensations as well. He felt…a bit sick to his stomach, actually, and worried it was some side effect of the watch being used twice, but the unease settled in lower, beneath his gut and in his lower abdomen. He didn’t quite know what was happening to him, but his cock was growing again–not as much as it had the first time, by any means, but it was still larger than any cock he’d seen in porn. Eleven inches? Twelve? It was…monstrous. He reached down to grab it, and when he did, he gasped–it was…so sensitive, and almost immediately it hardened, passing a foot long as it did, jutting out from him like a small spear. The unease slipped lower and gripped his balls–and intensified. It had been uncomfortable before, but this time–his balls didn’t merely double in size–they swelled in his hands where he cupped them and dropped lower, each swelling to the size of a grapefruit, and as they did, he felt lust surge through him.

Orwell’s Demon (Part 2)


Orwell was at his desk, distracted again, but then again, he was usually distracted these afternoons, ever since the wrestling coach, Mr. Diamond, had moved his office into the open office space as Orwell’s. He wasn’t the only one afflicted by any means–several of the young women teachers around the school would stop by periodically to say hi, though their eyes were glued to the young hunk everyone was talking about. Still, as good a guy as Ray Diamond was, Orwell knew he would never have a chance with him–he was hopelessly straight, or else so deep in the closet no one would ever find him.

He looked back at his computer and tried to focus on entering grades, but there was something else bothering him. The amulet he was wearing–the thing he’d bought on a whim at a little thrift shop downtown a few days prior, which he’d been wearing since, was…warm. Not just warm, actually, but hot against his skin.

He could be yours, you know.

It was a voice. A voice in his head, but it wasn’t…his voice. He looked around, just in case, but no one around Orwell had spoken.

I know you want him. I know everything that you want, Orwell. You want so many things, so many men. It’s beautiful, but so many of them don’t want you back. So much…unrequited desire built up in you, with nowhere to go.

The heat welled up somewhere new now–in Orwell’s crotch. His cock was rock hard, suddenly, throbbing with need. The voice was right, to some extent. Orwell was gay, but he wasn’t lacking for sex. He was twenty-six, had a decent body (though not as nice as Ray Diamond had) and was by no means a virgin…but he did have a habit for falling head over heels in lust with the straightest of men–men like Mr. Diamond.

He was certain his cock was going to explode, but it didn’t–as rapidly as the heat, and the voice, had come–they disappeared, leaving Orwell to heave a sigh of relief. A couple desks away, Ray Diamond shuddered, and then stood up from his desk, adjusted his crotch, and walked over to where Orwell was sitting. Orwell could…sense something was off about him. His eyes…had a tinge of red, and his mouth was curled in a snarl that he’d never seen on the coach’s face before. “Well Orwell?” Ray said–and it was the voice. The voice from his head, speaking through Ray’s mouth, “Do you want me or not? Come on and let’s have some fun.”

Orwell didn’t know what to do…but when Mr. Diamond grabbed his hand and hauled him out of the office chair and pulled him down the hall, towards the gyms on the other side of the building, Orwell’s heart did a little flutter. “A-Are you sure, Ray? I mean…at school?”

“Please–what Ray wants doesn’t matter anymore. The only person I aim to please, is you.”

“But…who are you?”

Ray turned around, and the flicker of red around his eyes Orwell had seen earlier had grown more pronounced, the hand round his own was hotter, and the grip was tight. “You’ll see…Now come on. Ray knows just the place.”

They ended up in a storage room inside one of the gyms, and among the spare jerseys, balls, and other gym equipment, Ray tore at Orwell’s clothes, ripping them away, even as his own seemed to simply…disappear. No–not disappear. They were burning up. In the dim light, Orwell could see the fabric simply burning up, like paper turning to ash. The coach’s skin underneath was red and inflamed, almost too hot to the touch–but the hottest part of him was, by far, his cock. If Ray had been that endowed before, Orwell was sure he would have noticed–it had to be at least ten inches long, and as thick as a beer can. He started to get on his knees, but Ray had other ideas–he shoved Orwell down and started running the massive member up and down his crack.

“I don’t think–it’s so big…” Orwell said.

“I know,” Ray said, and shoved the head into Orwell’s ass, unlubed, making him scream in pain, the coach driving his cock in deeper and deeper–but there didn’t seem to be an end to it. Orwell had never felt someone go this deep inside him before, his guts churning and coiling and burning with every thrust. “But it’s what you want, Orwell–I promise to always give you what you want.”

It felt like hours, the cock driving into him deeper and deeper, Orwell losing track of how many times he came. Then, suddenly, he felt the urge to gag, and then something forced his jaw wide, and with one mighty heave, Ray forced the head of his cock out through Orwell’s mouth, leaving him groaning and muttering in panic. “Like a pig on a spit,” the voice said, and Orwell felt himself…lifted from the ground, impaled on the bestial cock his fellow teacher had grown–or who he assumed was his fellow teacher. Claws dug into his skin and twisted him around on the shaft until he could see the thing which was now fucking him–and found himself staring at what he could only call a demon. “How does the little piggy feel?” the thing asked, licking his lips, “Does it feel good? I am yours, five times, but give in, and you can be mine for all eternity. Say yes, pig. Say yes–I will give you such glorious pleasure, I promise.”

Orwell just screamed, trying to haul himself free of the demon’s massive cock.

“A ‘no’ then. Four more, piggy. Four more,” the demon said, gripped Orwell’s sides, and began fucking him on the massive shaft, the head thrusting up and down Orwell’s throat until the demon gave a long roar, tugged Orwell up so the head slipped back into his stomach, and he came. Orwell felt the cum flooding his guts, flooding his body, and as it did…he could see his body changing, sagging, filling up with fat–enough fat that he dragged the demon’s dick down and he landed with the thud, the dick snapping off and turning to ash. The air around him was full of ash too–the remains of Ray’s body fluttering down around him, and his now obese body, hole gaping, as he hauled on his clothing (clothing which had somehow adjusted to his now flabby frame) and fled the scene as fast as he could, trying to ignore the laugh dogging him in the back of his mind the entire way home.

Stinkers – Eric’s Story (Part 6)

Eric did go to the library for a few hours, where he holed up in an isolated corner away from anyone else, and tried to focus on his school work, but nothing could get past his growing terror. Something was seriously wrong with him. He was bigger. He already stank like he hadn’t showered in days, and he’d just been sitting there in the cold room. He had a beard he couldn’t shave. His dirty laundry had just fucked up his roommate in some way he couldn’t even begin to explain. He’d spent all weekend fucking with some stranger. He’d raped one of his teammates. Trying to stack everything up together, everything felt too big. He tried searching online for anything he could find about what might have happened, but everything either led him to filthy porn videos he was too terrified to watch, strange online stories which read more like fantasies ripped out of twisted minds, and freakish conspiracy theories about aliens, government agents, and genetic experimentation.

He leaned back in the chair, feeling it creak, his gut growling. He’d been hungry for ages, but he didn’t want to give in. He could…remember eating with Greg, in that room, how he’d always lost control of himself each time, stuffing himself, Greg stuffing him, rubbing his gut, that time he’d…greased his cock up with butter and fucked him. He shuddered, and realized too late the memory had not only gotten him hard, but he’d just shot a huge wad right into his tight pants, the wet spot obvious and spreading across the denim. It dried in less than a minute, and the jeans he had on looked a lot less clean than they had been moments before–the same with his shirt, which looked like it was stained with who-knew-what and was suddenly crispy to the touch. The hunger was intensifying, becoming physically painful, but he didn’t dare go to the mess hall, not like this, not around all of those other people, but he didn’t know where to go instead.

He should go back to see Greg. He needed to know what was happening to him, he needed to know just how much of what he’d just read on the internet about this was true. He needed…to smell him, see him, taste him again. He pushed the desire away, and holed up in the corner of the library for a few more hours, trying not to think about what was happening to him. Once it had gotten a bit later, past the dinner hour, he ventured out right before the dining hall closed, piling a tray high with what remained, and trying to keep his distance from everyone, found a booth in the corner and stuffed himself, helplessly masturbating under the table, filling his jeans with four or five more loads of sticky cum before he finally finished his meal. He sat there, disgusted with himself, pleased with that disgust, a part of him embracing it, finding it sexy to be so reprehensible and filthy and fat. How was he going to live like this? Fuck, he needed a fucking drink.

There was a liquor store a few blocks away–he bought a fifth of whisky, and on impulse, a few cigars and a lighter. He’d never smoked cigars before, but they…they were calling to him in a way he couldn’t quite explain. He walked back to campus, but couldn’t go back to his dorm, and he couldn’t go back to the library, so he went back behind a maintenance building, lit a cigar and started slugging back booze, feeling a calm, dullness settle in over his mind. With the dullness there was nothing to hold back the horniness, and he started idly masturbating for lack of anything else to do, thinking back on his time with Greg, thinking about Tom in the hallway, how he’d smelled, how they’d all smelled together. He could…almost smell him now, in fact.

“D-Daddy? Oh fuck, daddy!”

Eric looked over and saw a young man coming towards him. It…couldn’t be Tom. He didn’t really look anything like Tom, but it had to be him, because Eric could smell him–more strongly than earlier that day, even. It was a powerful sweetness, a musky innocence, young fruit just beginning to rot. Tom had been a wide receiver, all lean muscle, but not any more–now he was half a foot shorter, his body rounded out in all the sexy places: wide hips, soft belly and boytits, and a big round ass that you could just eat for days. What the fuck was he thinking? What the fuck was he doing? He threw the bottle to the side and snuffed out the cigar, trying to clear his head as Tom approached. “Boy, you need to get the fuck away from me, I don’t…think I can control myself…”

“But Daddy Greg said I needed to apologize, for how I spoke to you earlier. I didn’t mean to be so mean daddy, but I…I wasn’t feeling like myself. Daddy Greg, he spent all day with me, really teaching me what a boy I am, and I see now! I get it daddy, I get it. I thought I was the important one, but Daddy Greg was just using me before–but now, everyone gets to use me, because that’s what I fucking want. That’s what I was fucking meant for.”

He came close, pressing his soft frame to Eric, who moaned and muttered, cock rock hard as the boy started stroking it, the scent of his filth and the boy’s sugar mixing, making him think of…of all the disgusting shit he could do to this little fuck, and how he’d love it, because that’s what boys did. They loved everything their daddy’s did to them, and everything was new to them, every time. But not…here. Not right here, in the open. Well, maybe…No! No, just…just a quick fuck, back in his dorm, and then the boy was gonna be out on his ass. “One apology fuck, and that’s it boy.”

They both knew he was lying, but they believed it for the moment, as Eric grabbed the boy’s hand and the booze with the other, before dragged him back towards his dorm, so the boy could properly apologize.

Stinkers – Eric’s Story (Part 5)

Eric went back to his dorm room. Thankfully, when he got there, he found that his roommate was gone–he stripped out of the filthy clothes he was wearing, grabbed a towel, and marched straight to the bathroom down the hall, where he spend close to an hour in the shower, scrubbing himself down over and over, trying to wash away the memories of what he’d done over the last weekend, trying to wash away the regret and frustration as he cleaned himself, part of him just wanting to go back, to see what Greg was talking about, to…be the person Greg saw in him. But he couldn’t do that. He had responsibilities, he had things he wanted to do with his life. He wasn’t about to let himself get derailed by some fucked up stranger couch surfing with that boy.

He stopped, and corrected himself. With Tom. The boy’s name was Tom–no, he wasn’t even a boy! Why the hell did that word keep welling up every time he thought of him, every time he…thought about how good it felt, having his cock buried up his hole in that hallway?

His cock was hard and leaking, he was stroking it under the water without even meaning to. He forced his hand away, and turned the water cold, forcing himself to go soft again, and then stepped back out of the shower, grabbed his towel, and started drying himself off–and for the first time since arriving at that boy’s place (Tom’s place, it was Tom’s place!) he got a good look at himself in the mirror, staring at himself as he dried off, trying to figure out what seemed off to him.

The stubble was one thing for sure. Hell, it was a beard really. He’d always had a good amount of hair, but he’d never seen his stubble grow in that quickly. He found his shaving kit in his shower bag and shaved himself smooth again, rubbing his smooth cheeks and feeling immediately…sad. He had kind of liked it. Sure, it looked unprofessional, but…but beards were more normal these days. Maybe he should grow it out, and at least see what it looks like. It turned out, he didn’t have to wait long at all. Just standing there in front of the mirror, his smooth cheeks turned scratchy, and in less than a minute, the beard was back like he’d never shaved it at all. Unable to believe what he’d just witnessed, he shave again, and once more watched his face fill in with hair all over again. It was then that he noticed the rest of his body was no longer clean either, although perhaps not as dirty as he’d been before his shower–but he could…smell himself all the same, and it was difficult for him to resist taking a long sniff and just jacking off right there.

But the rest of him was different too–hairier for one thing, but he also looked taller and thicker than he remembered–his thighs a bit more blubbery and soft, his gut hanging a bit lower, his balls pendulous and swinging free below his thick…ten or eleven inch cock, which had a massive amount of skin hanging over the head–but he’d always been cut, hadn’t he? He explored it with a finger, finding the cheese thick inside, coating his finger and sucking it off before he could stop himself, before he could deny himself his own filth anymore, and then the door swung open, one of the guys on his floor coming in wearing just a towel, and Eric quickly wrapped himself back up in his own towel. What the fuck was he doing? He felt more than just out-of-sorts after his weekend with Greg, he felt somehow…corrupted.

He kept a good distance between him and the new guy, and left the bath, heading back towards his room, letting himself in and found his roommate–Paul–on the floor of their room on his hands and knees, face shoved into the pouch of Eric’s filthy jockstrap, snorting and huffing the fumes with long, loud snorts while he masturbated.

“Paul! What the fuck are you doing!” he shouted, and his roommate looked up at him, glassy eyed. Eric stormed over and shoved him away from his filthy clothes, bundled them up and  left the room with them, heading downstairs to the dumpster outside the building and threw them in, before returning to the room, where Paul was panting and sweating on the floor, obviously shaken and disturbed by what had just happened. He was a slim twig of a young man, somewhat underdeveloped, and socially awkward. He’d been nervous when he’d discovered he was paired up with a football jock, but his awkward silence had paired well with Eric’s bashful reluctance, and the two had coexisted rather well until this moment, but neither of them could find any words they might use to talk about what had just happened.

“I…uh…gotta go study at the library for a bit,” Eric said, dug around for some clothes, but again, everything felt a size or two too small for his frame. He really was taller, and thicker, wasn’t he? It didn’t matter–Paul was staring at him with that same zoned out work, and he snorted again, and he needed to get out of here and away from him before he started listening to the voices roiling in his head, and did something he’d most certainly regret.

He grabbed his computer and his notebooks, ignoring the way Paul’s eyes followed him around the room, and left as quick as he could, heading across the campus to the library. Paul, meanwhile, felt his head start to clear a bit once Eric had left the room, but at the same time…there was something he needed. Something he could…still smell. He left the room, following his nose down and outside to the dumpster, hoisted himself in, and spent a couple minutes inside finishing what he’d started, snorting and jacking off to Eric’s stench, before climbing back out, the bundle under his arm, as he retreated back to their room to…indulge himself a bit more.

Arctos Monthly (Part 3)

Still, I suppose I’m getting ahead of myself, mentioning Mitch–he was in the picture, sure, but he didn’t really get, uh…involved until a while later. So anyway, Andy and I finished that first fuck of ours–I came twice in his hole, he shot at least once all over my sheets, and then licked it up afterwards. I was happy to just smoke my pipe, lounge around, and enjoy the smell of our sex in the room, but he, well, he wasn’t exactly happy about what had happened. I suppose I can’t blame him, but the way I was feeling, the way I was acting–hell, the way I feel and act I should say, I should just use the present tense, since I sure haven’t gotten better about it–I honestly didn’t care all that much, I thought he was just over-reacting. After all, he’d enjoyed it, hadn’t he?

We got into…a bit of a fight. A bit of a fight, because there wasn’t much he could do to me, at least with the body he had now. He threw a weak punch, I tackled and pinned him down, groped him a bit, lit another cigar for him, and we went right into round two. He mellowed out a bit after that, or he knew there wasn’t a whole lot he could do to stop me, but he liked it, he admitted it. Hell, by the end of the week, he needed it more than I did, that fat ass of his was never satisfied, and he’d…well, he never forgave me, exactly, but he was enjoying it all the same, the same way I was. We both knew, in our heads, that we shouldn’t be doing this. That I should feel bad about turning into a domineering top, that he should hate being this fat, desperate bottom. But neither of us did…and we enabled each other because we didn’t have anyone else. It wasn’t like we had much of a social circle after all, looking like this. Everyone else in the dorm thought we were crazy.

Yeah, we gave the floor RA a headache, especially with the smoking. Both of us got written up multiple times, but both of us needed the smoke too much to really care, and even the RA knew there wasn’t much he could do about it, especially this close to the end of the year, so eventually he just gave up, and we smoked with the window open, fucking all the while, and both of us settled in pretty well. Other people in the floor? Well, that’s where Mitch entered the picture. Mitch was the Freshman Hotshot, the Football Recruit, the Drunk Bro, and a huge homophobe to boot. Everyone knew what the two of us were up to, and most people didn’t care, even if they didn’t like it, but Mitch was the one who had to be vocal about it, who had to make sure everyone knew how much he was disgusted by us. It was a performance–we both knew it, but while I was too big for Mitch to do much to, he did harass Andy more than once. I considered referring him to the program for a while, but wasn’t sure if he deserved it, if I really wanted to be around him that much even if he was different, so I held off–then my second package arrived from Arctos, and I forgot about that for a while.

It’s important to note here, I think, that very little else had changed when we got our first package, beyond our bodies and desires. The boxes had been filed with quite a large assortment of clothes, of course, but that was literally all either of us had been wearing for close to a month, and as relatively poor college students, neither of us had the cash to completely revamp our wardrobes. So when I saw the next package from Arctos–or rather, when I saw how small it was–I was a bit disappointed, to say the least–it certainly wasn’t large enough to have any clothes in it. When I opened it up in my room–alone, I should add, since Andy was in class–all I found was a pipe and a bag of tobacco with a note. I didn’t keep that one, but it was shorter and I remember the gist it. All it said was, “Big changes come in small packages. Smoke in your bedroom, either alone or with bears you care about.”

I thought about waiting for Andy to get back, but I was too excited to try it, so I packed the pipe and lit it, but nothing happened, aside from the pipe pumping out way more smoke than should have been possible. At first I thought I had packed it wrong. I tried to take the pipe out…but I couldn’t. It was locked in my lips, and I was sucking in and blowing out even more smoke, so much that the room was soon so foggy I couldn’t see a thing, and I began to feel a bit lightheaded, slumping down at my desk, completely focused on smoking the entire bowl down as quickly as I could.

It was exhausting, but the bowl finally went out, and the smoke began to clear away from the dorm room…and I saw that, indeed, this package had been much, much larger than I had initially thought. My closet door was open, but instead of being filled to the brim with clothes I could no longer hope to fit, I saw it filled with shirts to fit my new physique…and a whole bunch of kilts–tartan, leather, denim. It was true, I had…really enjoyed wearing that kilt in my first package, and finally able to stand, I got up to take a closer look, and was overwhelmed with vertigo.

I was even taller now, by a few inches. My body had packed on muscle…and my entire frame was covered from top of foot to my back in bright red hair–and especially a thick, curly bush around my now ten inch cock. I lumbered over to the mirror in the dorm, and sure enough, my head and beard were the same bright red, and I noticed I had also received some tattoos–the scottish flag, my clan…yeah, my clan. I knew my fucking clan, and had the coat of arms tattooed across my entire back. My family had been in the states for a while, so I don’t have much of an accent, but…well, it comes out when I get a bit drunk. I had trophies from when I competed in the highland games, and others for weightlifting and powerlifting. Small packages indeed–and when Andy got his a week later, well…that’s when I knew we needed to do something about Mitch.

Dream Camp (Part 5)

Barry had to fuck his boy twice–he couldn’t help it, it was like he was on autopilot. As he woke up and realized what must have happened, that the wrong dream had come true, he tried to stop himself, but he simply couldn’t. His boy needed a good, proper loving after all, and Barry was the only one who could give it to him. Even though they had woken up ahead of the rest of the troop, they were some of the last people out of the tent, Barry having to get used to his new size…but he only realized just how large he’d become once he stepped outside, standing to his new height of eight feet for the first time.

Everyone around them treated him like normal, but he felt like a freak, wearing this adult uniform bulging with his fat body, his cock shoved down one leg of his pants…still leaking. Everyone….everyone just seemed so damn small, all of a sudden. Christian followed after him, and his boy was shorter than him as well, but still taller than all of the other scouts–even Max and Mr. Hoffson. “Thanks dad–I’ll see you after breakfast? Before the hike?” Christian asked.

“Huh?” Barry growled, “Oh, of course–you know how I get when I don’t give my boy a good fuck every few hours.” He grinned, but he wanted to scream. The words were falling out so naturally. Christian looked happy as could be, and went off to join the rest of his patrol in cooking breakfast. Barry took a step or two to follow him, but realized that he didn’t belong there, not anymore. No…he was a leader now. In fact, he was the assistant scoutmaster, second to Mr. Hoffson, though he knew all the scouts liked him better.

He looked over and saw the adults had congregated around their own set up–a much nicer one, he’d always noticed, and were busy cooking their own meal, or rather, Eric was cooking–he was the best at it, and enjoyed it the most. Barry lumbered over, poured himself a big mug of coffee, and tried to sit at the picnic bench, but he couldn’t bend his legs under the table. He ended up turning around and sitting backwards on the bench instead, though his knees still came uncomfortably high, the wood groaning loudly under his weight. He had no idea how heavy he might be–even at his new height and build he had a substantial apron of fat hanging off of him. If he had to guess, he was probably somewhere around 600 pounds.

“Need some cream in there?” Eric asked, taking a break from cooking to come around in front of him, his uniform shirt hiked up over his lower set of tits. Barry grunted, but put his cup under a nipple, letting Alex shoot a bit of his milk into his coffee. He swirled it a bit and gave it a sip–immediately his cock was hard, his skin felt flushed. Fuck, if that’s what a real man’s milk could do, no wonder Eric was careful about not letting just anyone drink straight from the tap. He could almost feel Mr. Hoffson’s scowl (or rather Kyle Hoffson–he had always just been Kyle to Barry now) drilling into the back of his neck. It was much, much easier to shrug off the disapproval, now that he knew how much bigger he was than him, and Kyle knew it too. Barry looked over his shoulder and met his now fellow leader’s gaze for a moment, until Kyle looked away, cheeks reddening slightly, and he could…smell something, coming off him. Something else that was making him a bit horny all of a sudden, though not as much as Eric’s cream, of course. He took another sip, enjoying the jolt now that he could anticipate it, and looked over at the patrols getting ready for the rest of the day, the amulet heavy around his neck. Was he…happy about this? What about his own dad and mom? What about his old life? He didn’t know how to be an adult–hell, he barely knew how to be a teenager. It did feel good though, and looking at his boy over there…fuck, he was handsome. Best thing in his whole damn life. He didn’t want to go back–then what would Christian do without him? The amulet seemed to be pretty good at sorting things out, so he’d just have to wait and see.

The patrols finished their breakfast, and while they were cleaning up, Barry felt the need rising up in him again, pulled his boy into their tent and gave him another deep fuck. Everyone knew what they were doing, but for whatever reason it didn’t faze them in the slightest–the only person who seemed to recognize anything strange about the whole thing was Kyle, but even he couldn’t put his finger on what, exactly, was the matter. Barry could sense his resistance, but he wasn’t too concerned about it. Still, something was gonna have to be done about him–just like Barry had always planned, but had a feeling it wouldn’t be as easy as he’d thought. The amulet…it didn’t give him a good feeling–when he was near him, it turned cold. Still, Kyle wouldn’t be a problem for too long, he figured, and Barry unloaded another massive load into his son’s hungry hole with a growl heard throughout the campsite. A growl which made more than a few scouts unexpectedly horny, even though few were willing to admit it to themselves. There was one scout who had remained focused on the tent the entire time, however–Max, Kyle’s buff son, had been staring and licking his lips, trying to understand the raging hardon he had and the…the musky smell in the air. He…he needed something, he needed it bad. He caught his dad staring at him staring at the tent, and he looked away, embarrassed, but he had the strangest feeling in his gut, that something was going to happen. It might be good or bad, but either way, he wanted it, and he wanted it bad–whatever it was.

Dream Camp (Part 4)

For a long while, nothing. Barry is there, and yet he isn’t, because you can’t be nowhere. He can sense this nowhere is his space, that nothing will happen tonight, that he will just sleep, but something is coming. He can feel it, drawing closer, the sensation of two universes colliding, and then they do. He is now somewhere, but he doesn’t know where. It feel alien. He feels like an intruder. This isn’t his, he knows that, but doesn’t know what it means.

A voice, someone crying. He looks up, and Christian comes through a doorway, eyes red.

“Have you seen my daddy?”

Something is wrong. He shouldn’t be here. Barry can’t move, but his lips are moving, he is speaking.

“I don’t know where he went.”

Christian is close now, no longer crying.

“That’s ok, you’re here. You can be my daddy now.”

Barry tries to tell him that he can’t, but he can’t respond. He can, however, feel himself changing. Growing taller, growing older. He is naked suddenly. He sees his gut sprouting hair, first brown, like his, then changing black, matching Christian’s hair, then sprinkled with white. He feels so strong, but also so out of proportion.

“You’ll be the biggest daddy, the manliest daddy. You’ll never leave me.”

More hair is filling in, so thick down the center of his gut that he can’t see the skin, tingling all over his back and down to his ass. His cock is growing, now close to a foot long, his balls heavy and churning with cum. He’s growing taller as well, the room growing with him, but Christian is small. Small, so small, he needs to be taken care of, his son, he needs to care for his son.

“You love me daddy. You love me so much, more than anyone else, ever.”

Care for him. Love him. Make love to him. Kiss him. Kiss his son, taste him, make him feel safe, make him feel good. He loses track of what happens, but his boy is with him, and his boy is safe. He loves him, he loves him so much, he’ll love him forever…

Barry wasn’t sure what time it was–from inside the tent, it looked like morning twilight, but Barry couldn’t hear anyone outside, which meant, thankfully, that it wasn’t quite time to get up yet, and he rolled over, finding his son in the sleeping bag next to him, and pulled him close. He knew that it was wrong, that whatever had happened in their dreams, that he needed to try and fight this, but why would he? he loved Christian, he loved him more than anything…but he felt…small, though his son didn’t stay that way for long. As Barry embraced him, he felt his son start expanding–becoming taller, thicker, hairier. Still not as big or hairy as his dad, but he had most of puberty left to get through, after all. Slowly, gently, he pressed the head of his huge cock to his boy’s pucker, slipping it inside, his son accustomed to taking his dad’s massive girth–hell, Christian was the only man Barry had ever fucked to the hilt, who’d had enough practice to take all fourteen inches of his cock, but that was only because the two of them fucked day and night. Neither of them could help it–their heavy, brimming balls demanded it.

Barry reached around, stroking his son’s eight inch cock, feeling him stir as his dad penetrated him, groaning and grunting, pushing back, eager to feel his dad stuff him full, and Barry leaned in, next to his son’s ear, gave him a deep growl, and said “Good morning, son–I love you,” in a voice much, much deeper than he’d ever imagined coming from his throat.

“Oh…daddy…” Christian moaned, but he only really could focus on his father’s cock in his hole, how much he needed it, how happy he was to finally have a daddy who would never leave him–who would love him forever, no matter what.

Hopeless (Part 3)

You stumble into the parking lot, still pumping cum out the bottom of your shorts, where it’s running down your thick, hairy legs. There’s something wrong with you. Well, of course there is something wrong with you, you’re worthless, but this is different. You’d gone so long without cumming, for weeks–or maybe even months, you couldn’t quite remember, and now that the dam had been broken, your gut was churning, your balls are aching, you’re sweating from head to toe. People stare, no–gape at you plodding to your car, mouth open, snorting, eyes wild. You throw open the door and go to climb in, but hit your head on the frame, your knees scrunched under the wheel. It isn’t until you process the fact that the space is smaller than usual that you manage to reach under your seat, past your massive cock, and shove the seat as far back as it will go. Is this even your car? Your key worked, it…smells like you, but it doesn’t feel right. You shut the door and immediately feel claustrophobic, panting and panic rising in your chest, but you have to get home, you’ll be safe at home, you aren’t safe here.

It’s a fifteen minute drive to your home from the gym, and it’s harrowing. Your bones ache, muscles pulse. More than once, a sudden, full body spasm of growth sends you speeding forward or swerving into other lanes–the fact that you don’t end up in an accident or arrested is a minor miracle. You park, throw open the car door, and manage to squeeze yourself free of the confines of the car, whimpering and moaning. The exit is anything but graceful, and you end up toppling out face first onto the pavement, but you’re free, at least. you grab the car door to help yourself up, but when you pull on it, rather than gaining any leverage, you feel the car door bend down in the frame towards you instead, the car tipping slightly to the side as you drag yourself up. It’s so…small, like one of those clown cars at the circus. You abandon it, running for your apartment, and your shorts finally can’t bear the pressure of your package and thighs, bursting at the seams, your foot and a half long cock and massive balls flopping out into the open, your shirt following soon after–you tear away the tattered remains once you reach your door, crouching in the hallway, fumbling with the keys you’d kept in your hand, but they’re so small and you’ve grown so clumsy that you can’t fit the key in the lock–in frustration you simply start pounding on the door–and it opens.

Without worrying how, you start the next task of finding some way of squeezing through the doorway, the only thought you have is making it inside. You end up pushing yourself in sideways–you’ve grown much too tall to walk in, and your shoulders are too broad. It’s close, but you squeeze inside, heaving for breath, feeling your body continue growing as you do…and you realize you’ve trapped yourself. There’s simply no way you’ll be able to fit yourself back out–but why would you want to leave? Out there, all there are are people who will stare at you, look at you like you’re a freak–because you are a freak. You don’t want to go out there, you don’t want to leave. Your trainer, who’d opened the door for you, closes it behind you but doesn’t lock it–you don’t even notice that he’s there until he standing beside you, stoking one massive, hairy arm, talking to you, calming you down bit by bit, that buzzing sound returning, and soon you’re shivering at his touch, at his words–and you realize that you are sitting down on the ground–and he’s standing next to you–but he barely comes to your shoulder. How…how big are you, really? How big is your cock? It doesn’t seem real, hanging there between your legs. You must be at least ten feet tall–far too tall for your ceilings. The only way you’ll be able to move from room to room is by crawling…but is this even your apartment? Now that you’re more calm, this doesn’t…seem familiar. The floorplan is too open, there’s almost no furniture…where did you drive yourself, anyway? Where did you just trap yourself?

“Look at you, you’re a beast–a gigantic, disgusting beast,” he says, walking around you in a wide circle, taking all of you in–the hairy body, the long beard, the massive cock and balls, “You’re going to be so popular, so many people have been waiting for you to finally blow.”

You have no idea what he’s talking about, and he doesn’t elaborate. You try to talk, but words…don’t come easily to you anymore, and he has no interest in anything you might ask or want to know. He leaves you alone–but you don’t feel abandoned. For the first time in a long time, you feel safe. The the men begin arriving. You have several visitors each day, and all of them come for one reason–to abuse your massive cock. The ride it, they worship it, the suck it, they drink your cum by the gallon. None of them care about you, about the body attached to this marvelous beast of a cock–but then, why should they? You know you’re worthless, unworthy of anyone’s attention. You’re simply happy to know that there’s one part of you which is worthy of desire and that’s enough for your simple mind. The only person who sees you is your trainer–no, your owner now–when he visits. He comes every few weeks–you look forward to those visits more than any other, because finally, he has allowed you to serve him. You pull him close, gently, lick him clean from head to toe, worship his cock and balls with your mouth, letting him know how thankful you are. How thankful you are that he has given you purpose. How thankful you are that a hopeless, giant-cocked beast like you, could ever hope to be owned by a man like him.