Male Bonding (Part 2)

Needless to say, Jared found himself spending a lot of time bonding with Trevor over the next few weeks. In fact, if he wasn’t at work, then Jared was pretty much guaranteed to be in his son’s basement. If trevor was home, then both of them would be watching porn together, and Trevor would be helping his father explore this new side of his sexuality–in particular, Jared had discovered just how…wonderful it felt to be fucked, and now he wanted something in his hole all the fucking time. More than once now, he worn a butt plug all day at work–it hadn’t made it easy to get anything done, because he’d had to keep dashing off to the bathroom to jack off, but fuck, it had felt so damn good, being full like that all day long. He couldn’t wait to get home and tell Trevor all about it, while his son plowed his hole with his big cock.

The nights when Jared got home and his son wasn’t there were a bit harder. Without anyone around to fuck him right away, he had to go downstairs and play with himself for a few hours, until Trevor got done with his closing shift. Usually, this meant watching porn, fucking himself with a dildo, and sniffing and sucking on the various cumrags his son kept, usually looking for ones that were still a bit fresh and moist, left out for him specifically. This was fun and everything, but it was during these solo sessions, without his son there talking to him and encouraging him, that he would feel, at first, a bit silly. Then, more doubt would creep in, and he’d start to wonder what, exactly, he thought he was doing. Didn’t he find this disgusting? Shouldn’t he be ashamed of himself? The worst part though, was that even when these thoughts were at their strongest, he couldn’t stop himself, and he couldn’t turn them off. He felt…trapped between two versions of himself, and he didn’t know which one he…should be. Because he didn’t really want to go back to hating his son, but he couldn’t keep going like this, could he? Eventually his son would arrive home and find him bouncing on a dildo, jacking his cock, watching porn but eyes deep in thought, and after they talked for a bit the thoughts would evaporate, he’d sit on his son’s big cock, and he’d feel much better.

It felt good to talk to his son again. Well, it felt good to listen, really. His son just had so much to say, and he’d had no idea! He…He didn’t quite remember it all at the end of their bonding sessions, but he been listening intently the whole time, he swore. It was just that damn ring of his–it was so…enthralling. Jared found it really hard to even focus on the porno playing when he could be looking at the ring instead.

Work, for him, increasingly felt like torture. All he really wanted was to be back home, bonding with his son, but no–he had to be here, in this office, in this suit, working with spreadsheets and writing emails, and…and he hated it. He’d never hated it this much before, but now that he had something he enjoyed so much more, every moment that dragged him away was painful. It apparently started showing in his work, because his boss, Carter, called him in for a chat towards the end of the month to have a conversation about the quality of his work. Jared made the appropriate promises that he’d do better.

“You know, I’ve noticed–and some other people have mentioned this as well—that you seem kind of…tense lately. Easily frustrated. That just doesn’t seem like you, Jared. Is everything alright at home? I know you and Trevor were having difficulties adjusting.”

“No! No, Trevor is, like, the least of my worries,” Jared said, with the first genuine smile Carter had seen on his face in weeks, “No, we’re doing really good. We had a big talk, and actually, we’ve been…really bonding a lot lately…” He stopped himself from saying any more, figuring it probably wouldn’t be appropriate to mention to his boss how much he loved getting plowed by his son more than being at the office. “I’ve just been…I don’t know…I think I’m just running on empty at the moment.”

“Well maybe you should think about taking a vacation. You have lots of time saved up, and the office can handle being understaffed for the next few weeks.”

“I…I don’t know if that’s necessary.”

“Well, think about it. And hey, are you still on for poker night next week? Maurice is hosting over at his place. You didn’t show up last time.”

Last time, Jared hadn’t even thought about it, because he’d been too busy licking his son’s body clean after a long day at work.

“You can even bring your son along, if you’d like, he might enjoy it. Maybe getting out of the house a bit would be good for him, you know.”

“I…I don’t think poker would really interest him.”

Carter shrugged, “Well think about it. I hope you can come though.”

“I probably won’t make it, but we’ll see.”

“Too bad. Think about that vacation offer too. It looks like you could really use one.”

“I will.”

Jared got back to work and managed to keep his nose to the desk until the end of the day, embarrassed that everyone had noticed his obvious displeasure at being here right now. But he didn’t want to have to take a vacation–if anything, few weeks uninterrupted with Trevor would only make things worse. Still, he ended up discussing both issues with Trevor when he got home, and at work the next day he went into Carter’s office and told him the news–not only that he’d be happy to take a vacation–preferably a month, if possible–he’d also checked with his son, and they’d both love to go to that poker night. Carter was happy to hear both pieces of news. A month was a bit long, but Jared did have enough time banked up and the guy looked like he needed it. They worked it out on the schedule, so it would start after the following week, giving Jared a chance to wrap up whatever projects he was involved in. It ended up that his last day of work before the vacation was also poker night–that next Friday. Jared told him, and his son, couldn’t wait, and got back to work.

Male Bonding (Part 1)

Jared hadn’t been the best father–he knew that, but it wasn’t like Trevor had made it very easy for him, but he’d tried. He really had. But how in the hell are you supposed to act when your son comes out, at fifteen? Maybe he’d been a little harsh, he could admit that, but their relationship…he just hadn’t really been able to feel close to his son ever since that day. He knew, in his heart, that it wasn’t fair, that his son hadn’t done anything to feel that way, that he hadn’t chosen to be gay (after all, who would choose to be gay? It was just…just so unnatural!) but that didn’t change the fact that every time he touched his son, his stomach just…churned. It made him feel guilty, and he could tell Trevor knew how he felt, and so they just avoided each other, or fought. They’d been screaming at each other for years and somehow still calling it a relationship.

Things had been better when he’d gone to college, but when the school had pulled his financial aid, Trevor had been forced to move in with his now single father, living in the basement. He was at least able to find a job working retail at the mall, but he showed no real drive to move out and be out on his own…and he kept bringing home…men. Men! Men Jared’s age! It was…was…so disgusting! That had been their last argument, and Jared had threatened to simply throw him out, and Jared had stormed out, not returning home for several days…but when he finally came home again they finally…just, talked. They talked about it, about everything, for the first time, and Jared could at least understand where he was coming from, but he still didn’t want men coming to his house. Or, at least, he assumed that’s what they talked about. He…he couldn’t really remember the details of the conversation with any detail–his son had bought this…this ring. And the way it caught the light, it had been so…enthralling. Still, they had talked, and they finally came to a compromise–Trevor agreed that he wouldn’t host anymore, though he refused to stop having sex altogether. In return, he asked his father to dedicate time each week to bonding with him and rebuilding their relationship. He said that he just didn’t feel like he really had a father–he didn’t feel like he’d had a father for years. Jared agreed–it seemed like something he should be able to do, after all. Until he found out what his son had in mind, for their first bonding session.

“No. No! Absolutely not.”

“But you promised you would give it a try.”

“This is not at all what I thought I was agreeing to. This is disgusting! You’re disgusting!”

What Trevor had in mind to help them bond, he had discovered, was watching porn together–gay porn–and jacking each other off.

Trevor moved his ring in the light, sending a glint into his father’s face, watching his eyes lose some of their focus, “This…this really means a lot to me dad, and I just don’t think you’re trying very hard. I just don’t think you’re really committed to trying to make our relationship really work. And that…that hurts dad, it really hurts, you know? You don’t want to hurt me, do you?”

“N-No, of course not…but…but I’m not…gay.”

“You don’t have to be gay to watch porn and jack off, dad.”

“Yeah…but…” Jared knew–he knew there were other reasons, but he just…couldn’t find them.

“Take off your pants, Dad. Come sit down, and pull out your cock. At least give it a try for me.”

That…that didn’t seem too unreasonable. He dropped his jeans to the floor, and walked slowly to the couch and sat down, letting his cock slip out of his boxers. Trevor sat down next to him, wrapped his ringed hand around his father’s cock, and started stroking it. “That feels good, doesn’t it, Dad? Aren’t you enjoying this time together?”

“Y-Yeah…yeah…”

“Here dad, feel mine. Feel how hard it is? Yours is really hard too. Focus on it, focus on how good it feels, how much you enjoy having me stroke your cock, and focus on the ring, focus on the light, feel it fill your head so full that it pushes away all those other thoughts, all those doubts, and just listen to me, listen to your son, and think about how happy you are, to have this chance to rebuild our relationship, how you don’t want to damage it again, how you were such a bad daddy before, and you want to make it up to me, right?”

“…Yes…”

“That’s good. Now look at the screen. Isn’t that kind of sexy? Those two guys touching each other? Sucking each other? Fucking each other? Have you ever thought about that, Dad? Be honest now.”

“Y-Yes…”

“It’s ok, it’s ok to think that way.”

“No–I’m…not gay…”

“Push those thoughts away dad, and just enjoy yourself. Focus on those happy thoughts, those thoughts about men, focus on them. They make you feel good, they make you feel complete. You don’t like thinking about women nearly as much as men. In fact, you’re going to find it harder and harder to see women as attractive, from now on. Now stroke me faster, stroke me harder. You want to make me happy, you want me to feel good. You want to make me feel good more than anything else, you want to bond with me more than anything else. Make…Make your son cum with your own fucking hand!”

Jared stroked harder, but it all felt like a dream, like someone else’s hand was feeling his son’s cock spurt cum all over it, someone else’s mouth licking it up and relishing the flavor of his son’s cum. Some other body bending over to suck the cum from his son’s shirt. Some other person’s cock exploding at the taste of cum, that taste he’d always fantasized about, that taste he’d always wanted, just like his son had said. He was so lucky to have a son like Trevor, so happy to have a chance to bond with him like a good daddy, yes, he’d be a good daddy from now on, the best daddy, the best daddy in the whole world…

Breakdown (Sketch)

“Great, just great,” Paul thought, hearing his car’s engine start grinding as he drove down the highway. He made it another half mile before smoke started pouring out, and he was forced to pull off to the side of the road…somewhere. He was on the way to a convention being held in Houston, and had decided to just drive rather than book a flight, but here he was–stranded in the middle of “Some Desert, Texas” in the middle of the night. He was already cutting it close, since the convention started the next morning, but this didn’t bode well at all. He got out and tried to pop the hood, but the metal was too hot too touch–instead he got his cell phone, but naturally he had no reception–that’s what he got for going with that stupid bargain network bullshit. He kicked the tire, cursing, and then leaned against the car door, wondering what in the hell he was going to do. He had zero mechanical know-how–if desperate, he could probably figure out how to change a tire, but this was obviously beyond that. It would seem, then, that the only option he had was to try and catch a ride to somewhere he might get some help.

That late at night, vehicles were few and far between. He kept the lights of the car on so people could at least see, but the first several trucks and semis he waved at didn’t even slow down for him. Finally, after a few hours–putting it well past midnight at this point–a pickup truck rolled down the highway, saw him, slowed down and pulled off the side of the road a some yards ahead of him.

Both door popped open. From the passenger side came a younger man, probably not quite old enough to be drinking yet. He was in better shape but still with a sizable paunch, balanced with a bit of muscle, wearing a sleeveless tee in the hot night, grimy looking jeans and cowboy boots. From the driver’s side, out climbed a…rather obese redneck, a full bushy beard, and long hair, wearing a pair of coveralls and boots which looked to be coated in grease. That was a good sign at least–if the guy was actually a mechanic–maybe his luck was turning around.

“Hey! Thanks for stopping–I was starting to think no one was even seeing me over here,” he said, extending a hand for the older guy, “The name’s Paul.”

“Bill,” he said with a grin, and spit something black onto the ground, “Ah don’ mind givin’ ya a hand, but it ain’t gonna be free, ya hear? Still, don’ look like ya got much choice, right?”

“I mean, of course. How much will it cost?”

“We’ll figure that out once Ah see what’s wrong. Might need tah go back to the show fer the tow truck, we’ll see. Let me poke ‘round a bit, see what’s wrong.” The young man came up, and Bill slapped him on the back, “Mah boy ‘ere can keep ya company fer a bit–say hi, Tim.”

“Hello sir,” the younger man said, his voice much less accented then his father’s, “I just hope we can help you out. I got some coffee in our cab, you fancy a drink?”

“That…that would be nice,” Paul said, and followed Tim over to the truck, while Bill popped the hood, cusing at the heat, and started looking around. It was lifted well off the ground, and Tim had to climb up into the cab–as he did, he let out a long, slightly wet fart inches from Paul’s face, behind him. The smell was gastly, burning his nose and bringing tears to his eyes, as he tried to cough it back.

“Aw shit, sorry about that. I can let real stinker’s go sometimes.”

Paul was still coughing and sneezing, but it felt like…like the smell was forcing it’s way through his nose and eyes, right into his skull. he could almost feel it in there, wrapping….wrapping itself around his brain, choking it…cutting…cutting off…

Paul didn’t bother bringing down the thermos of coffee–he just flipped over, legs hanging off the seat, watching the businessman’s eyes glaze over as he stopped coughing. He was a handsome one–looked like he worked out, probably in mid thirties or so. Dressed in a suit, hair styled nice, looking like a good cityfolk ought to look. He unbuckled his belt and dropped his jeans and jock down around his boots, rolled over and dropped to the step up into the truck, bare ass towards Paul’s face, and let loose another fart towards him, Paul sniffing the air and stumbling forward, pushing his face between the young man’s cheeks and sorting in as much of the funk as he could, his tongue licking out the filthy crack, burrowing into Tim’s hole. It was…sweaty, or greasy–something was getting on his face in any case, but for some reason he couldn’t bring himself to care. Deep inside, some part of him was screaming, the the stench in his mind had cut it off, rendered it quiet and powerless.

He had no clear idea of how long he stood there, eating out Tim’s ripe hole, as the young man pumped fart after fart in his face, forcing him to inhale all of it, but eventually Bill came around the side of the truck, apparently unsurprised by what he was seeing.

“What’s the damage, daddy?” Tim asked.

“Engine’s shredded tha bits. We’re gonna have tah tow it outta ‘ere at some point. Looks like he’s enjoyin’ himself. Fuck, still remember the first time Ah caught a whiff a yer farts son, fuckin’ changed mah life.”

“Can I bring him home, Daddy? This one’s…hungry. I think we can have some fun.”

“Oh alright. Ain’t like he’s got anywhere else tah go, right? He can stay wit us ‘till Ah git his car fixed up.”

“Ya hear that Paul? You get to stay with me for a few days! isn’t that exciting?”

Paul wasn’t listening–Bill finally grabbed the man by the hair and pulled him free from his boy’s crack. His eyes were empty and unblinking, and his previously smooth face was coated with a half inch long beard all over, which he’d sprouted over the course of his ass eating. Together they got Paul into the cab with them, squished between them on the cab’s hump, and got back on the highway, heading home, Tim giddy with excitement that his new friend would be staying with him for a good long while.

Christmas III: A Brand New Stanta Claus (Part 5)

The first hour or so was simple enough. Stan would arrive on the roof, drop down the chimney and deliver the presents–happily taking the milk and cookies offered at each stop, though he felt a bit guilty and gluttonous for doing so–and then whisk himself back up and off to the next stop. The only thing that bothered him, really, was how damn horny he was all of a sudden. In fact, he could saw with total certainty that he was currently the horniest he’d ever been in his life, outside of, perhaps, a few teenage occasions, but he pushed his libido away…just like he always had, ever since…since he’d had those first inklings…

He shook his head, pushing that memory away again. He hadn’t thought of that in years, and it was returning now? Why? That was…so far in the past now, he’d sworn he’d never think about that again in his life, but it kept trying to bubble up and resurface. He looked down at his list, which thankfully had been modernized into a tablet computer, showed that his first red name was coming up next–the sleigh landed upon the top of a high rise condominium in some sprawling metropolitan center, and Stan hopped out, leaving his gifts in the sleigh, and read the naughty note under the name:

“Troy Weston: Financial Systems Executive. Secretly defrauding thousands of dollars a day off the backs of mortgage payers.”

Stan made his way to an air vest, squeezed his way in and down a few floors, until he popped out the other side in a rather swank apartment. Stan had always lived rather frugally, but he imagined this would be garish by anyone’s standards. Still, what was he going to do now, exactly? He hadn’t really given this much thought, as to how he might punish these special cases. He had magic, right? He must…he just didn’t quite know how to work it. Suddenly aware that he might be out of his league, he went to use the vent to get out, but couldn’t–he couldn’t leave, of course, not until he’d taken care of what he’d come to do–somehow he knew that on a basic level. There was no getting out of it now, he’d just have to figure something out.

He crept through the apartment until he arrived at the master bedroom, opened the door, and found himself looking at a man in his thirties, well asleep…and as soon as Stan saw him, his teeth were set on edge. He could…smell the evil rolling off him, the greed, the complete lack of empathy, and it just…just made him mad. He stormed in and yanked off the covers, booming out, “Well Troy? Welcome to my naughty list this year!”

The banked started awake, looking up blearily at Santa looming over him–a Santa in leather gear. “W-What? Is this some fucking prank? Stevens, is that you?”

Stan slapped him across the face with a backhand he’d wielded on his own boys whenever they’d misbehaved, and that shut him up. His anger was only growing…or was…was it something else, heating him up? Like…like something wanted to gush forth from him. He found himself laying his gloved hands on Troy’s body, and some sort of light came from them, soaking into Troy’s skin, and he became so bright Stan could barely look at him. It died back after a few seconds…and a very, very different Troy was lying in bed, looking up at Santa.

He was a bit shorter, and quite a bit rounder–not exactly fat, just…husky. He had a short goatee, but it was the look in his eye that caught Santa off guard. “Oh…Santa? F-Fuck, I…why…I gotta, I need…” He sat up on the edge of the bed, pushed Stan’s jock to one side, and swallowed his cock to the hilt, and Stan groaned, unable to believe how…how good it felt to feel…feel that, and he yanked himself away, stumbling back.

“What…that’s not…” Stan tried to say, but his horniness was only growing, the throbbing in his cock now painful.

“S-Santa, please…let me take care of that for you, I…I love cum so much, please…I gotta have it.”

Stan tried to run, but Troy tackled him to the ground, got Stan on his back and mounted his cock with his warm mouth–all it took was…was feeling that again, and Stan stopped fighting–but he noticed something else. His cock wasn’t three inches anymore–no, it had more than doubled in size, maybe even tripled–so long, Troy kept gagging when he swallowed the entire shaft. Stan put up token resistance when Troy lowered his ass onto Stan’s cock–but he…he wanted this. Had always…kind of wanted this. Stan didn’t last long, and he pumped Troy’s guts full of his cum, watching the cub shiver with need. Apparently, all that greed was focused on something different now…and Stan was more…more than happy to give him another payment.

He wondered what had come over him, afterwards, what could have made him throw Troy to the carpet like that, and breed his hole so…so roughly. He hadn’t even been in control of himself, but it had felt so damn good, letting go for once. Besides, the slut had wanted it–no, he’d needed it. Begged for it rougher and harder. He groped his crotch, feeling his massive tool stir at the memory, and felt guilt crash down on him. He’d sworn he’d never give into those desires again, not after what happened last time, that only time…and now he’d just…raped someone? As Santa? Without really knowing why it was his first instinct, he reloaded his pipe up with Timmy’s tobacco, and the smoke got him calmed down again. He…he could figure that out later. Right now, he had a job to focus on. He got back in the sleigh and took off, leaving the new cubwhore Troy in the building, knocking on all his rich neighbor’s doors in the middle of the night, begging them for the only thing he now cared about in the world–their cum.

Case Closed (Part 2)

Richard stayed quiet for a moment. Gathering his thoughts? Rehearsing his lies? Here’s what he said:

“Look, I know this is going to sound crazy, I know, but just…just listen. Last night…that…it was Meghan’s fault! She did this, I know she did.”

Ah, so the plot thickens, I thought to myself.

“Who’s Meghan?” I asked.

“Meghan is–was–my girlfriend. She found me after my psych 301 class yesterday and started screaming at me for cheating on her with someone else.”

“And were you?”

He waffled, before finally nodding, and kept talking, “Look, it was…an accident. But she told me, then, that she was going to get me back. She’d always been bragging that she came from this line of witches or something, and how she’s an expert at curses. This has to be what happened to me, it has to. I can’t think of any…any other reason why that would happen. Why they’d do that to me. Why I’d…change like that, like this,” he said, grabbing his hefty gut and giving it a jiggle. For some reason, watching him do that…I felt a tingle in my crotch, but I did my best to ignore it.

“Alright, and what exactly did they do to you? Your frat brothers, I mean. You were a member of the fraternity in question, right?”

Richard nodded. The two of us looked at each other, a bit doubtful, and he must have seen what we were thinking. “Look, I know…how I look right now, alright? But I didn’t look like this yesterday. I was buff, hell, I was one of the school’s football stars.”

“I don’t remember a Richard being announced at any of the games I’ve gone to,” I said.

“No, I mean, that’s all part of it. Look, I just…I just don’t want to sound like a crazy person.”

“And the two of us, we want to believe you, Richard,” Walker said, leaning over the table a bit, “But if we’re going to be able to help you, we have to understand what happened, and we’re going to need you to give us as much detail as possible,” I saw my partner’s…nose flare, suddenly. I don’t know why I noticed it at the time, but he seemed…eager, somehow. He always gets that way though, when he thinks he’s caught someone in a lie, but that just seemed so much more…hungry.

“I was…Meghan left me standing there in the hallway, and I went back to the frat house. Everything was fine that whole afternoon. The guys were all normal, I mean. Nothing changed until after dinner that evening, when I got back from the dining hall. Some of the guys were already drinking–I mean, we all drink on Friday, so that wasn’t strange, but…but some of the guys kept…giving me this strange look.”

“What do you mean?”

“I mean…they were looking at me, like I’d see them look at the sorority girls at our parties. I saw them looking at me like…like they wanted me. It was really weird, but they wanted me to drink with them, but after one beer I was already blasted. Marco…I think he might have drugged it, I know he has a stash of roofies in his room–and they started yanking my clothes off me. I punched…one of them, and they…they tied me down, over the table, and they started…”

The waterworks were flowing again, but at that point, I have to be honest, neither of us were buying it, but he wasn’t likely to give us a straight story–besides, something else had been bugging me. “So they tied you down. This morning you must have still been tied up, so how did you escape this morning, when you couldn’t all last night? I also don’t see any rope burn on your wrists, which we usually see from someone struggling.”

He was quiet–guilty quiet. “That’s…that’s the worst part. I didn’t want to tell you, not yet. I mean, at first, I didn’t want them to do it, I mean, I was fighting them, but for some reason, I…I started to enjoy it. When…when they untied me, so they could…could use my…mouth, I didn’t even run. I didn’t want to have sex with them, but I also couldn’t…stop myself. I just felt like…like such a pig! I didn’t even notice it happening at the time, but when I woke up today, and I…I was fat, somehow. I mean, yesterday I was a star football player, and now I look like I haven’t worked out a day in my life! How does something like that even happen?”

Easy answer–it doesn’t.

“Alright, so…you enjoyed it?” Walker asked.

“I don’t…I mean, I’m straight! I’m not gay. I didn’t want to like it, but it was like something in my head wouldn’t let me say no.”

“So you never said no?”

“No! I said no at first, but then, I…” he looked at each of us, and the look in his eyes–it’s that first moment they realize they’ve been caught. “I should go,” he said quickly, “I think I need to get out of here.”

He stood up, but I positioned myself between him in the door, “No, why don’t you go ahead and sit back down. We need to sort out what exactly happened last night, I think.” I stepped closer to him, and…and something shivered in me, some strange…desire. I couldn’t even really process it, but I shoved him back into his seat. I wanted answers, and this pig wasn’t going anywhere until I got them.

Dream Camp (Part 8)

They returned to the rest of the hiking group, pushing through the trees, the scout now sporting a full beard, a small gut, and a longer cock he couldn’t seem to keep his hands away from. Barry watched something pass through all of them, almost like a wave of some strange energy, the scouts all turning more…manly, all of them except Kyle Hoffson, who remained stubbornly unchanged…even when he saw his son Max, come lumbering out of the woods behind them, shorter, no longer wearing a uniform other than his neckerchief, soaked with sweat and cum, his paws glued to his thick, bestial cock.

“M-Max?” he said, mostly to himself, “What…I…”

Kyle couldn’t take his eyes away from the strange, disturbing beast. That…that couldn’t be his son. He would never…never, have a son like…like that, right? Max grinned up at him, baring his strange teeth in that inhuman snout, and then walked over and hefted a heavy pack onto his muscular back, and Kyle…Kyle felt something inside him, something he’d never felt before, grow tighter. It had been getting tighter all weekend, ever since he’d seen that obese monstrosity of a man in the parking lot dropping off his son, this strange sense that his hold on reality, it was becoming strained. He was trying to hold it together, trying to keep in mind what was real and what wasn’t, but increasingly he’d felt like he was living in some twisted, perverse dreamscape. First, Eric and Alex Mendel with their, freakish leaking chests. Then the disgusting perversity of Barry Brooke and his overgrown boy, and now…now his son? His own son? He couldn’t look like that! If…if Max looked like that, and if Max was his son, then…then what would that make him?

It grew tighter, he didn’t feel like he belonged in this place anymore. He looked around at the scouts, his scouts, and realized he barely recognized any of them, anymore. All of them were suddenly hulking, hairy young men, stinking with musk, all of them obviously corrupted by that filth Barry Brooke put out from his disgusting body. The disgusting fucker, he revelled in it, in his…his power and authority. Look at him, his cock hanging out openly, all of the scouts staring at it, smelling it, smelling him and each other. He had to get out of here, he needed to get out of here, and with a sudden terror, he grabbed his pack and started off back on the trail, leaving the rest of them behind. He had to get back to camp, he had to escape, before whatever this insanity was overwhelmed him.

The rest of the scouts watched him leave, and then looked to Barry. He could…sense it now, Kyle’s hold on reality beginning to fray slightly. He wasn’t sure whether it was simply stubbornness or just a lack of imagination that made him so resistant, but now he knew he wouldn’t be able to resist his dream forever. “Well boys? What do you think? Should we get back to camp for the evening?”

His young men all nodded, and Barry led the way, Max behind him, carrying his scoutmaster’s pack along with his own, happy to serve as beast of burden, like always. The boys followed behind, enjoying the musky scent of their ScoutMaster leading the way, their bodies developing as they did, bodies growing hairy, beards filling in and growing long, their own bodies becoming sweatier, their cocks and balls growing, leaking in their uniforms. More than once, on the way back, one of them would begin to have doubts, begin to fear what was happening to them, and they would try to hang back, to get away, but Christian, following up at the end, was waiting for them. They would, spend a bit of quality time together, their faces buried in Christian’s reeking pits, our slurping at his engorged cock, until they no longer questioned what was happening, until the desired it, and then the two of them would double time and catch up to the main group.

Up at the front, Barry kept the pace quick, not necessarily because he wanted to make it back to camp quickly–if anything, he would have preferred a few more breaks, so he could see how his scouts were all developing behind him, wallowing in his cloud of perverse musk, but no–he was keeping his eyes ahead, to where he could see Kyle trudging along as quickly as he could, desperate to put as much space between himself and Barry as he could. Barry could smell him on the wind: his sweat, but also his terror and confusion. He saw him ditch his pack to the side of the trail, look over his shoulder at the band of scouts behind him, led by their massive, obese ScoutMaster, his eyes wide with the terror of prey, and he started running proper, with about two miles left before they reached camp. Barry let him pull away from them, keeping the pace steady. Kyle was strong, but he wasn’t that strong, to keep up a run like that for much longer than a mile. Still, Barry wanted him exhausted. Barry wanted him stinking, and scared, and too weak to fight him. Let him run, he thought, he can’t run from what’s been coming to him for years and years.

Kyle reached camp, and found himself staring at something just as disturbing, his fellow leader latched to Alex Mendel’s tit, now the fattest man he’d ever seen, his arms and legs beginning to wither and atrophy, all of their muscle now concentrating themselves in his neck and chest, his eyes becoming swallowed in fat, his ears growing smaller as he became more and more cut off from the world, now just a body made to suck and swallow. The man, hearing him coming, pulled away from Alex and looked over at him, his mouth toothless, just two swollen lips, a thick, grotesque tongue licking them clean of milk, before Alex guided his face back to sucking, which the man would be doing for the rest of his life. Alex smiled at Kyle, and beckoned him closer, squeezing out of his tits, spurting out a bit of his sweet milk, and Kyle…Kyle felt himself stretch to the brink. With a primal scream, he ran to his SUV and started clawing at the door, needing to get away from this nightmare, when a bod slammed up against him, pinning him to the side, a voice in his ear growling, “No Kyle, I don’t think you get to leave yet–what would the troop do without their favorite pig?”

Dream Camp (Part 6)

The troop had planned a ten mile hike for that day, around the large lake that the campground was butting up against. The hike was technically optional–Eric and Alex were going to stick around camp and work on some badge requirements with any scouts who didn’t want to go, and several of them stayed–although they were less interested in learning about knots and more desperate to latch onto Alex’s tits and suck the young man dry when they got the chance. The other adult–Saul–stuck around as well. In fact, he’d been with Eric almost all morning, his mouth latched onto his tits, spasming every few minutes as another orgasm ripped through him, his flat stomach already forming a round gut. Poor guy was gonna be stuck in Eric’s harem if he kept that up–just one more obese, empty headed titsucker, like all the others Eric kept at his home. Barry shivered a bit, thinking about how…nice that would be, to just lay around, sucking down Eric’s delicious milk, not having to think about anything else ever again…but he had Christian to think of too. Maybe…maybe when he was older, and out on his own, then maybe Barry would take Eric up on his standing offer he would occasionally try to tempt him with.

That left Barry, Kyle, Christian and most of the older scouts to go on the hike. They all made their lunches, put together their day packs, and got to the trailhead around noon. The weather had turned clear, at least, thought it was still cold and a bit blustery. Barry was thankful for his new body, however–he felt so energetic! Usually he wouldn’t have gone on a hike like this at all, because he would have collapsed before the first mile. Now, however, even though he was still very fat, he also had a much longer stride and the endurance to fuck his cock hungry boy all night long. In fact, by the end of the first mile, he didn’t feel the least bit winded–though he had begun to sweat profusely, soaking his hairy body, the pits of his uniform shirt dark with sweat, and it was hard keeping his head clear when his stinking musk kept distracting him, and making him horny as hell. Christian wasn’t helping much either, walking in front of him, swinging his chubby ass right in his dad’s face. He’d started sweating too–Barry could smell–and see–the sweat collecting in his son’s crack especially, imagining how smelly it might be, thinking about how much he wanted to shove his face in there and eat out his filthy hole.

By the time they reached the five mile marker, where they had planned on eating lunch, both Barry and Christian had their uniforms soaked to the skin, their cocks fully erect and leaking, the scouts around them all trying to keep their own heads clear in the musk of them both. Max, in particular, was in heaven. He’d…always kind of liked how guys smelled, in the locker room after practice. He’d never dared tell his dad something like that–he’d assume his tough boy was some kind of fag–but even Max had never imagined anyone could smell as good as Barry or Christian did. He…he wanted them, there was no use denying it. He wanted their sweat coating his body, he wanted to lick them clean, to bathe in their musk and cum and…and what the hell was he thinking? He wasn’t some fucking fag! Sure, he’d always…kind of wondered, but he couldn’t. His dad would kill him, if he found out Max had even thought of something like that.

Kyle called a long break for lunch, and looked around, but Barry and Christian had already thrown their packs down to the ground and were storming off into the woods, hungry for each other, Barry shoving his son up against a tree, yanking down his pants and burying his bearded face in between Christian’s ass cheeks, tongue probing his loose hole, tasting his loads of cum from earlier still leaking their way free from his ass. Christian bore down and blew a wet fart right in his father’s face, the stench hitting him like a freight train, cock spurting in his uniform pants, driving him into a frenzy of eating and licking as Christian moaned, and farted again. Barry couldn’t wait anymore, he couldn’t resist anymore. He stood up, not even realizing he was growling, shoved down his pants and rammed his cock into Christian in a single thrust. Before, he’d been horny, but still conscious of himself. This fuck however–he felt like an animal. He pulled Christian close to him, raking his nails across his fat gut, slamming his cock in deep, biting down on his shoulder, sucking at the skin, licking at it, marking him. He was his, all his. His forever. He came, a load even more massive than earlier, but kept fucking, feeling it squelch out, dribbling to the forest floor below them, one hand reaching around and milking his boy’s cock until he too shot up and down the trunk of the tree. Only then did his mind return, and he was able to pull away, legs trembling, and they collapsed together–Barry sitting against the tree, Christian in his lap between his legs, his daddy hugging him close against his belly, and they saw Max behind a tree a few yards away, watching them, cock hanging from his pants, drooling.

The amulet was warm against his hair, just like the sun, but he still had enough energy to beckon Max closer. He could see the need on his face, the reluctance, the fear and the desire. He kept stroking, Barry leaned forward and licked the side of his son’s neck, biting at his earlobe gently, never taking his eyes from Max, even as his own eyelids began to droop. He was so tired, all of a sudden, but he was coming closer, coming to them. Yeah, come on boy, come to me, come to us, where you know you belong…

Mr. Lear’s Buddy (Part 3)

Things were different for Buddy from then on, when he finally woke early Saturday afternoon, from his very long sleep. He’d…tried to resist. He really had, at first, but once he’d understood how…how good it could feel, how wonderful it was to have someone like Mr. Lear inside him, guiding him, controlling him, it was easier to just…let go. Together, Mr Lear and Buddy spent the next hour or so jacking off–for real now–exploring his young, husky body, Buddy amazed at the range of pleasure the old man could bring out in him. Sure, he’d jacked off before, but it had never felt like…like this. It was no wonder people jacked off so much, if you knew what you were doing, of course. And Mr. Lear had shown him that Buddy had no idea at all, what he was doing. He’d just been…floundering all this time, in desperate need of someone’s help. Well now he didn’t have to do anything at all. Mr. Lear would do everything for him! All he had to do was go along for the ride.

He felt a bit bad for his dad, however. He eventually came up to his son’s room to investigate the moaning he’d heard, over the din of the television downstairs. He opened the door, and was appalled at what he saw–his son covered in his own cum, jacking off openly under his roof like some…some fucking faggot! Buddy’s dad wasn’t all that much brighter than his son. He hadn’t even managed to graduate high school, ending up working away his life in construction. he was a big brute, heavily muscled with a thick full beard–it didn’t take much effort for Mr. Lear to have him on top of his own son, drooling, licking up the cum from his skin, disgusted with himself at his own actions but unable to do anything to stop himself.

But what to do with him? Such a horrible little man couldn’t be allowed to just continue being…horrible, after all. Mr. Lear started by stealing most of his cock. Buddy had been modestly endowed–around four inches, his father was a bit larger, at six. Together, however, Buddy’s body was wielding a ten inch, incredibly thick cock, and his father was left with not even a dicklet, but a dimple and a hole. He was humiliated at the sight of himself–which gave Mr. Lear a horrid idea–so he forced his new father to take any number of pictures of himself, in all sorts of demeaning positions and in his wife’s underwear, and made him start posting them online–his face exposed of course. He couldn’t stand it, but the thrill for him was so powerful, he started compulsively oozing from his new cumhole.

Mr. Lear had no real interest in returning to school–he already had enough knowledge to satisfy multiple PhDs, but his new body needed at least a high school diploma. When Buddy suddenly stopped failing classes, some of his teachers thought it was a miracle–the hopeless student, not just uncaring, but too stupid to really know what caring was–suddenly improved. Was he cheating? No one could prove anything–but some of the teachers found out the truth, soon enough.

Mr. Sonders, for example. He was easily the fattest teacher at the school, weighing in close to six hundred pounds, though this year he’d resolved to lose as much of it as he could–at least until Buddy’s body showed up at his desk one day after school. Mr. Sonders, Buddy discovered, had been Mr. Lear’s pet piggy–and while he put up quite a fight against falling back under his master’s control, he was soon crawling around the floor, squealing and oinking, begging his master’s forgiveness for daring to lose any of the weight he’d worked so hard to gain. In a matter of months, he was larger than ever, and as punishment he could no longer cum without his mouth packed with food–or a cock.

The football coach was equally unhappy to discover Mr. Lear was back from the grave, but he too, was back to his old habits before too long–no longer showering or changing his clothes, licking out the locker room urinals and toilets after practice, wetting the bed each night in his bachelor pad, since his wife had long since left him after his hygiene had first slipped. One thing that was unforgivable, however, was that he had shaved off his long, grungy beard, and cut his hair. As penance, his hair began growing incredibly fast–he had his old beard back by graduation, and it would only be getting longer–and filthier.

Buddy had no real hope of getting into college, of course–not with his abysmal track record in school. That didn’t seem to bother him, however, and he took on a conveniently open janitorial position at his old high school, and moved out on his own, into Mr. Lear’s still vacant house. After a few months, his father and mother divorced–his photos had finally been found online by his wife and work buddies. He was forced to quit his job out of shame, and move in with his son as his personal maid and slave. The brute spent his days in woman’s panties and heels, but Mr Lear forced him to work out even more and start juice up, turning him into a massive muscle monster bottom, filming slutty, humiliating videos for his online fans…and that was the last Buddy saw of him…of anything, actually.

He’d been fading for a while now, as Mr. Lear took over more and more space up in his mind. Before too long, even he wasn’t sure he existed anymore–when Mr. Lear finally convinced him that his existence was simply an impossibility, he finally winked out entirely, leaving his body to his Master, for the rest of his new life.

Mr. Lear’s Buddy (Part 2)

***Warning*** This is a bit graphic with a tale auto-erotic asphyxiation, but it’s almost Halloween, what do you really expect from me?

There was a rumor, at the time, going around the school, that something had happened to the school’s janitor, Mr. Lear, over the summer. Of course, everyone at the school knew he’d died; the administration had announced that at the opening assembly. Everyone had liked Mr. Lear–sure he was a old fart, but he’d been silly and made friends with any number of students during his many years working at the school, and it had been a blow to the community. The old man had always claimed to be a magician, but all of tricks were just sleight of hand–although none of the students had ever been able to catch him at it, in all of these years. He’d also been…accused of some odd things over the years, but no one seemed to care much, and they were generally forgotten quickly. That said, his death over the summer was the greatest mystery of all.

The official story was a heart attack at home, and no one had any evidence that that wasn’t the case, but the rumor going around was that Mr. Lear had, in fact, died in the school itself. The more scandalous versions alleged that he’d hanged himself in the gym locker room–and the version students only dared whisper was that he’d died with his hand around his cock, jacking off–just like some people had heard this senior, Terry Winters, had done at home two years earlier. Such a nasty rumor would only get a foothold, of course, if it hadn’t been at least…a little plausible. Mr. Lear had been a nice guy, but he’d also been a bit of a creep at times. The school administration tried to tamp down the story, which only made it spread faster.

Buddy had heard some of this, but he hadn’t thought much of it–he didn’t think much of anything, really. He sat the rest of the game out on the sidelines, trying to not rub his cock through his uniform pants. All he wanted was for the thoughts to stop, but being away from the game only made it harder to think about something else–because usually, Buddy wasn’t thinking about anything at all. The game finished–his team won, no thanks to him, and he got changed as quick as he could, and got home, the thoughts dimming slightly as he got away from the school, but didn’t leave entirely.

His dad was angry at him for his poor performance, and yelled and berated him for being such a terrible waste of manhood. Buddy, feeling terrible, went to bed, but didn’t dare cry. What if he wasn’t only a bad football player, and a bad man, but a faggot too? What then? It took several hours, but he eventually fell into a fitful sleep…and dreamed.

He never dreamed anything much–the few he remembered were mostly odd colors and patterns, not stories. But this–this was vivid, solid. He was standing in the boy’s locker room of the high school, by himself…or was he? There was…someone else here, someone watching him. He ran to the door, but it refused to open, and when he turned around–there, in the middle of the locker room, naked aside from a filthy jockstrap and a rope noose pulled tight around his neck, was Mr. Lear.

“Buddy?…Buddy! So you’re the one! You have no idea how glad I am to see you–to have found you,” the old man said, walking closer to him. There was something…wrong about him, something terribly wrong, with how blue his skin was, how…cold he seemed, the incredibly bloodshot eyes. “You make me feel…young again.”

“Wake…wake up. I gotta wake up!” Buddy said to himself, pinching his arm, but nothing happened.

“Oh Buddy–you aren’t in your dreams anymore–you’re in mine! And the best thing about dreams? They can last a very, very long time, you know. Why, it can feel like…years have passed, and you wake up the next morning, and it’s just hours. Isn’t the mind amazing? The spirit?”

“No–No! Don’t touch me, don’t touch me!” he screamed, the bony old hand reaching down, grabbing his arm, and Mr. Lear tugged him into an icy hug, his mind…filling with…thoughts and desires, ideas and fantasies he had never imagined. Mr. Lear pushed him down onto his knees, where Buddy pressed his face to the nasty jockstrap he had on, grinding his face into the dry, crispy fabric, his hands wrapping around his own cock, jacking it slowly.

“You see, I’d been waiting for so long, Buddy, trapped in that school, just a shadow of myself, unable to move on. I’ve been trying to get into the others, but I was so weak, it took so much magic to just keep from moving on! But you–you’re so…empty, so perfect. Dumb, empty, with no real will of your own. But I can help you, Buddy. I can give you what you’ve always been missing! Desire! Purpose! You’re head’s so empty, why, there’s plenty of room for me to make myself at home, right?”

Buddy found himself nodding. Bony fingers with long, chipped nails slipped the jockstrap down, revealing a cock, perpetually hard, blue with desperation.

“I was almost there, right on the edge. I knew I needed to stop, but it feels so good, that explosion! And magic is cheating of course–you have to…to know that death is seconds away for it to really count. But I didn’t even get there, stuck on the edge in…so many ways. I want…I want to feel it again, Buddy. I want to feel what it’s like to cum again. To fuck again, to smell a filthy jock, to seduce men and have my way with them. My magic kept me tethered to the world, but if you become my vessel, it will become yours, you know. The power to bend wills, to change minds…we can have so much fun together, you and I.”

“No…No, please…” Buddy muttered, feeling his mouth open anyway, tongue extending to taste that bulging, dead cock inches from his mouth.

“I expected you to say that, at first. But we have ages in our dreams, you know. I can show you how wonderful it can be, to say yes. I can show you so many things tonight, so many wonderful things! Come morning, we’ll be a new man together, I promise.”

Buddy screamed, mouth wide, but Mr. Lear gagged him quiet, thrusting his cock straight down the boy’s throat. He’d learn, oh he’d learn–and he had he had all the time to teach him to be the best, most perverse vessel he could possibly be.

Mr. Lear’s Buddy (Part 1)

It was homecoming night, the big game against their crosstown rivals, and Buddy knew he couldn’t afford to feel nervous. In fact, nervousness wasn’t something he usually felt–hell, he didn’t usually feel much of anything, in the middle of a game…or really, much at all. As much as Buddy hated to admit it, he simply wasn’t the brightest tool in the shed. Football, now that was something he could do. He could run into guys, he could keep them away from the quarterback, that was simple, that was small and focused enough that his mind could latch onto that. But tonight, about halfway through the first quarter he’d felt something he usually only felt when he was called on unexpectedly in math class–he felt nervous.

A different…kind of nervousness, too. Not a terror nervous, but a sort of happy, giddy nervousness that he’d never felt anything like before. It wasn’t enough to really upset him, or spoil him, but his awareness of the sensation was there all the same, and there was nothing he could do to shake it. Alongside the nervousness, however, he had this other sensation of being watched…studied. Examined from the stands. That was understandable, he was one of the star varsity players, but this felt different than a fan watching him. Still, the nervousness seemed to ebb a bit at the first quarter segued into the second, but then, something else happened. He went in for a tackle after the center hiked the ball, like always–facing off against one of the brutes from the opposing team. They shoved their bodies together, but rather than just two sacks of flesh colliding (this is what it had always felt like, a fleshy violence, like when his mother tenderized cube steak with a mallet) it felt like a strange kind of pleasure, more liquid than flesh. Sensing weakness in him, his opposing tackle pushed onward, and Buddy flowed with him, his hand migrating to the other player’s crotch, gripping it, feeling the man’s surprise, feeling him halter, and then it was gone, and the game flashed back into him, the tackle blowing past him, the quarterback barely completing a pass before he was slammed to the ground.

Buddy simply stood there, unable to process what was going on in his head. There was his confusion, but something else, a giddy happiness. Like the nervousness earlier, it felt somehow foreign to him, and he again looked around the stands, trying to find the eyes he knew were focused intently on him, and trying to avoid looking at the coach, who he knew would be angry at Buddy for letting a tackle through like that. After all, Buddy never let a tackle through–that was his job, his only job, the only job he could get right.

The quarter counted down, but only grew stranger. Buddy felt…like his body was so much more sensitive than ever before. So sensitive, in fact, that during one particularly violent collision a few moments later, where his helmeted face ended up crushed against another player’s crotch, his cock spewed a huge load of cum into his jock, and he clung to the body, pressing his face as close as he could get, aware, for the first time, of how their bodies smelled here, on the field. The sweat, the grass. But also…also this musk. His musk, this other body, they were so close, and…and…

“Dude, fucking get off me, you freak,” the other player said, kicking himself free of Buddy’s hold, forcing him back. He tried to figure out what was happening to him, what he was feeling. His father talked about homosexuals, about these freaks who stuck their cocks in other men’s holes, how unnatural that was. And he was thinking about that, thinking about holes, about his holes, about other men’s holes and how…how that might feel. Was he one of those homosexuals? He’d fucked girls before, but this felt…

He shook his head. This was a game, it was the middle of the game, he was losing focus, why was he losing focus? It felt like his once empty head was…filling up with…sex. With musk, with pleasure, with bodies, with…it was so much, and so much of it was impossible to put any sort of words to. The quarter was over, and the coach was unhappy with him and yelled at him on the sideline, said he didn’t have his head in the game. He’d have to sit out the third quarter, and maybe play in the fourth, if they could build up a sizable lead. Buddy was trying to look sorry, his head bowed, but really his eyes were locked on the coach’s crotch, on the bulge there, wondering about cocks and holes again, those eyes still on him, his head filling up, and for the first time in his life, he wished his head was empty again. It had been so much simpler, but things…were suddenly becoming very, very complicated.