Performance Reviews (Part 5)

*~* Six Months Later *~*

“Come on, Shitface,” Aaron said gruffly around his cigar, and tugged the leather leash. Whatever had caught it’s attention, the office pet followed Aaron into the bathroom to start it’s day. The bathroom had seen better days, but then again, it hadn’t been cleaned in nearly a year at this point. The partitions had all been torn out, leaving just two open toilets, covered in piss stains and shit smears, a couple sinks that no longer worked, and a urinal with a puddle of reeking piss that Shitface headed towards, while Aaron attached the end of the lead to the hook on the wall, next to the toilets. Shitface didn’t notice, it was too busy sucking up as much of the piss as it could. Aaron watched for a moment, still unable to believe that after all of this time, Carson was still in there somewhere. Cum dripped from the head of Shitface’s chastity cage, but it’s cock didn’t harden–Aaron had taught the beast better, with a good amount of electric shock punishment, and while it remained plenty horny, it hadn’t strained in its cage in a few months. With that, Aaron left the bathroom to get to work–Bryce needed his morning whipping while he ate breakfast. The fat fuck had been slowing down lately, and Ollie wanted him cresting nine hundred pounds by the end of the month, and pain had turned out to be a great motivator for him.

Shitface, meanwhile, finished off the puddle of old piss, and then knelt by the toilet, panting, and waiting. It wasn’t long before someone came in–Cletus, in fact, hauling around his huge gut in a pair of overalls, tobacco spit drooling into his wiry mass of a beard. He sat down with a grunt and started shitting, Shitface sucking his cock while he did and drinking his dipspit as well, until he finished, and then Cletus stood up, turned around, and let Shitface get what the beast really wanted, the nasty filth left in the crack. When it was clean, Cletus gave the beast a pet on the head and told it that it had dome a real good job, and noticed Ollie had stepped in after him without saying anything. Cletus offered his nasty redneck hole to him, but Ollie said he had some business with Shitface first, and Cletus left, disappointed, but some other dirty fucker in the office would want to ride him, he was certain.

“Well, it’s been another six months–why don’t we give you a real nice reward, eh Shitface, and see how Carson is doing in there?”

Ollie walked over, got down, and unlocked the cage around the beast’s cock. It didn’t know what to do–it hadn’t had it’s cock free in so long, and when Ollie started rubbing it, it didn’t respond at all–the beast knew what happened if it got hard, after all. Still, with some urging from Ollie, Shitface got into it, humping into his fist while he sniffed at his pits, but he didn’t manage to cum until Ollie bent over and let it eat out his crack. Only then, did he finally work a massive load from the beast, six months worth of cum pouring out of him and onto the filthy tile, and slowly, from the depths of himself that he hadn’t even known he possessed, Carson pushed his way back to the surface.

Or at least, what was left of him.

“Wha, where am…I? He muttered, lips struggling to form the words it had nearly forgotten.

“Welcome back Carson,” Ollie said, “It’s time for your review. But maybe, first, you should take a look at yourself in that mirror there.”

Carson crawled over where Ollie pointed, getting about a yard before realizing he was crawling. He tried to stand up…but didn’t quite know how, and ended up in a strange stoop, clinging to the sink to keep himself upright, and he could see what the last six months had done to him.

He was so smooth–smooth, and filthy. The hair on his head had either been freshly shaved that day, but from the grunge on his scalp, it was more likely that it had been removed entirely. The same with the hair on his face–and the hair on the rest of his body, though it looked like Ollie or Aaron had decided to replace it with tattoos. His entire front was covered with ink, and it ran down his arms and legs as well–but not on his face, for some reason. No–his face seemed wrong in other ways–his nose turned up, eyes small, mouth too large. That, and he was so…fat, so much fatter than he had been. He couldn’t remember clearly, but he’d been…around 275 when he’d last gone under, but now he looked to be close to 400, enough that he’d felt his gut graze the ground when he’d crawled a moment before. “What…you do to me? Not right, this not right.”

“Of course it’s right, Carson. This is you. You’re a brownnosing, filthy little animal, aren’t you?”

That did sound right, actually, but something…was saying no. A distant voice, but it was there. He shook his head, his hair flinging around him, but nothing seemed any clearer than before. “Not right, not right!” he yelled, “Not right, not me, no!”

He tried to turn and face Ollie, but fell back onto his hands and knees, where he knew he belonged. Ollie regarded him, and the cage in his hand. “I should probably just lock you away for a while longer, really do away with you, make you too stupid and weak to resist, but you know what? This is going to be more fun, you fucking animal.”

Carson slipped away, back into the darkness, and when he next surfaced, he had his face planted in a filthy crack, and someone was fucking him rough, rough like Master fucked him, rough how he liked it now. He’d cum again, and he struggled to pull away, but couldn’t–he was too tired, he was too tired to fight it anymore. The crack pulled away eventually, and Carson looked behind him, and saw it was Master fucking him, leering down at him around his massive cigar, and he felt…fear. So much fear. Obey master, always obey Master, or else punishment, so much punishment.

“Fuck, he is still in there, ain’t he?” Aaron said.

“The code phrase will work for you too, use it if you have to, and cage him up if his mind starts to come back and resist. I don’t think he will though–give him a few weeks, and he’ll accept it.”

Aaron waved the cage in his face, and said, “I don’t know, think I can trust you with your mind out, Shitface?”

He knew that wasn’t his name, not really, but…he couldn’t remember the other one, even though he knew Ollie had said it earlier. He nodded regardless. It was Master’s name for him, and that was all that really mattered.

Aaron looked back at Ollie, “I’m gonna enjoy having him know what’s happening to him–and trust me, in another six months? He’ll love it. I’ll make him love it, all of it. He’ll want to be a fucking pet–he’ll be begging me to use the words on him, to give him the release he craves.”

Ollie laughed. “Well, I’ll let you get started then, Aaron. And that was an excellent review as always–you’re my star employee.”

“Thank you, sir,” Aaron said, “I wouldn’t want any other job than this one.”

Performance Reviews (Part 4)

“I’m still that person, you can’t fucking break me,” Carson said, “I’m gonna blow this whole fucking thing wide open, you can’t do this forever!”

Ollie nodded, “Yeah, I know you’d try–and so, that’s why I’ve decided I simply can’t let that rational mind of yours hold onto the wheel much anymore,” he stepped closer, and Carson could…smell him, smell his stinking ass, but he fought against that urge as hard as he could. “See, that rational mind is still yours, but the rest of your head? I own it. All of it. Fuck, if you’d just give in, you wouldn’t even recognize yourself in a few days. So you know what? You’re going to have to learn how to let go–isn’t that right, you fucking animal?”

Carson didn’t know how to describe what happened next. It was like the urges pent up inside him ramped up to a roar, and every trick he’d found to hold them back could barely keep them at bay. He heard himself start panting, and smelled…piss. He’d pissed himself in the chair, right where he was sitting, and he hadn’t even cared. “No, you, how you do…that…” Carson said, but the words were slow, and nothing seemed to make sense.

“You are a tough one, aren’t you?” Ollie said, “Well, nothing can stop a fucking animal like you, trust me.”

He lost it. Carson felt his mind flung away, the instinct and desires Ollie had spent months planting in him taking complete control, and he threw himself out of the chair and onto his hands and knees, snorting and panting, nosing around to the back of Ollie’s pants. He…didn’t have a clear memory of what happened after that, it was just a cascade of wants and desires, none of it conscious, just a pursuit of whatever twisted pleasure his bestial and perverted mind desired. The next thing he knew, he was cumming, and the beast inside him lost force, allowing Carson to resurface and gain control again–and he found himself around the side of Bryce’s desk, still humping his massive, flabby thigh, and from the wetness in his pants, he had clearly cum just from grinding himself against his boss’s massive leg.

He fell back and looked to the clock. Two hours. He’d lost control for two hours, and he couldn’t remember a second of it, not clearly. He felt something cold in the back of his pants as well, and realized that somewhere in the midst of his rutting, he had shat himself as well. He was shaking in horror, and he looked up at Ollie standing over him. “I’m…I’m sorry, I’ll…I’ll do it, I’ll do everything, I swear, please don’t let it back out, please…”

“I’m sorry Carson, I really am, but you won’t be able to help yourself. You love control a bit too much. And in all honesty? You’re a hot fucking animal when you let go–and I’d rather have that nasty fucking beast in the office than you. Stand up, and strip.”

Carson, still pleading with him, stood up and took off his filthy shirt and soiled pants and underwear. Ollie grabbed something amongst the food on the desk, a little metal…something he didn’t recognize. Ollie started putting it on his cock, and Carson realized what it must be–a chastity cage. “No…No, you can’t…”

“Don’t worry Carson, I’ll let you out again eventually, but six months locked away will do a marvelous job grinding away some of that troublesome mind of yours. I have a feeling that when your next review rolls around, you’ll be a whole new man.”

He locked the cage, and gave it a tug, making sure it was secure. It was…so small. There was no way his cock could get an erection in it. “Please, please, just let me try.”

“Enjoy your last thoughts Carson–because you’re going to spend a good long time as my nasty, fucking animal from now on.”

He tried to fight it, but he was too weak to resist it again, and Carson’s rational mind slipped away again, and the animal fell onto its hands and knees, looking at the cage on its cock and whining a bit.

Ollie went to the door and hollered, “Aaron! Quit beating on the intern for a bit, and get over here. The project I mentioned is ready for you.”

Aaron appeared in the doorway, and grinned when he saw the snorting, empty eyed beast where Carson had been moments before. “Fuck, you weren’t kidding.”

“Yeah, but he’s…well, look at the mess he made earlier. You’re job is to train the thing, make sure it can behave–or at least make sure it isn’t pissing and shitting all over the place–or make it clean up after itself if you prefer. Beyond that, make sure it stays plenty horny all the time–with that rank ass of yours, I doubt you’ll have a hard time with that. it’ll be going home with you too–so get used to parking around back, by the loading dock, out of sight. If people see him, we’ll have issues.”

“Sure thing Boss–can I give the thing a better name, too?”

Ollie shrugged, “Why not? What do you have in mind?”

“Come here, Shitface,” he said, calling Carson over, and the beast crawled to him, and started sucking his thick cock. “I think he likes it.”

Digital Manipulation (Part 6) [Interactive]

Nothing much changed for Perry for a few weeks–all he had to do was live his life. He went to the gym, and then came home to his apartment, and every day that passed, more and more of Perrion disappeared from his mind. He couldn’t even remember what he’d seen in him at all, or why they had been dating–as far as he could recall, he’d always been Perry, and he had always been alone. So, when he woke up one morning to discover he wasn’t alone anymore, he had a sinking, terrifying sense of deja vu, that he had woken up like this before, with a relative stranger, and last time…he hadn’t been the one who’d survived.

“What ya waitin’ for man?” the stranger said, as he got out of the bed on the other side “We gotta get tah the gym, right?”

Perry couldn’t respond, he was simply in awe of him. He was massive, whoever he was, and Perry was hardly small. He looked like someone who had been taking steroids for years–or the synth shit even stronger than that. His shoulders were nearly as wide as a doorframe, and he struggled a bit when he bent over and grabbed an electric blue slip of spandex from the floor, gave it a stretch and stepped into it. He turned, and gave Perry a look at his groin, and that was somehow worse.

His cock–it didn’t even look much like a cock anymore, really. It had been pumped full of so much silicone that it just looked like some monstrous, fleshy bulge, his ball sack a single massive wad of the stuff, larger than a basketball. With some effort, he managed to squeeze it into the spandex, which turned out to be a singlet that barely fit on his huge frame. The static was there, dulling the horror bit by bit, but Perry held onto it as long as he could. This…this wasn’t right, this was fucking disgusting. Still, the man, his boyfriend who just went by PJ, got him into a matching singlet from his side of the floor, and they headed to the gym, stopping by the locker room first, so he could get his injection. He wanted to be as big as his boyfriend, right? Or even bigger?

Everyone stared at PJ at the gym, and Perry stared along with them, but it was no longer disgust–it was jealousy. PJ was the center of attention, no matter where he went, always. His massive, unnatural frame and his huge bulge took care of that, and Perry found himself disappearing into the background. That was good though, right? He shouldn’t…want that, should he? But when they got home, and PJ told him it was time for his silicone injection, he got…excited. It hurt, but it was going to be worth it, he could tell.

Everyday, he seemed to get larger, and every day, he felt like his brain was getting smaller and smaller. PJ was a man of simplicity–working out, injections, protein, and TV were the only interests he had, and as Perry followed him through their life, he found his own focus shrinking and shifting as well. It was paying off though–people were starting to pay attention to him too. Together, they were even more freakish than apart, a perfect pair of muscle freaks for the entire world to gawk at. Perry couldn’t recall the last time he’d worn something that wasn’t spandex, he couldn’t remember the last time he hadn’t had to turn his whole body to the side in order to look behind him, he couldn’t remember what it felt like to hold his cock with one hand.

That was one thing neither he, nor Perry, could really handle well–was the horniness. The synth steroid made them ragingly horny, but with their monstrous cocks, jacking off was…a struggle .PJ didn’t even seem interested in playing with his now useless cock at all–instead, he rode toys all afternoon long, often on VR cam so men on the internet could watch him bounce on them like a total slut, and Perry was joining in before too long. They could rake in so much money doing some ass-to-ass action with their massive double dildo, two muscle freaks pounding their holes into oblivion until they both reached massive anal orgasm together.

They were merging again–Perry could sense it. He couldn’t keep track of who he was anymore, if he was Perry or PJ, and so, to make things easy, they decided they both should go by PJ, together. They were so in sync–PJ felt like his boyfriend was almost inside of him, more like an imaginary friend than a real person. Then, he wasn’t real anymore, and PJ was alone. It made things harder, injecting himself, and his cam shows weren’t as exciting with just him on them, but that was alright. He was happy after all, he loved being a muscle freak, and now, he knew for sure that no matter where he went, everyone’s eyes were on him, and only him.


Trax couldn’t have been happier with the result, and he had to admit, watching PJ whore himself out on cam in VR over and over again had been a great thing for him to watch, but he felt like one more round was needed to finish him off. After all, while it had been fun manipulating Perrion in the office before, this new man wasn’t going to be working in an office at all. No–he needed a different sort of vocation, he thought, and one more copy to train him for a new life ought to help.

So, what’s our final stage going to be here?

  1. PJ works as a stripper and a whore
  2. PJ becomes a skinhead gangs brute and sex pig
  3. PJ becomes an old perverts live in sex toy

Here’s the public Twitter poll!

Here’s the supporter only Patreon Poll!

Polls close in 48 hours!

Cleaning House (Part 7)

CW: Scat

It’s…hard to talk about, honestly.

I mean, I don’t remember it that well, either. I showed up in Daddy’s clothes, reeking, almost 200 pounds heavier than she remembered me…

I drank a lot, that night, and smoked a lot too. Still, I tried to help, after I cleaned myself up and took a shower. Being clean…I felt so naked, and so worthless. Amy didn’t…want me there, and there was nothing I could really do to make anything better. I was just…something else to manage. She did everything without me, and I just sat there in a stupor, drunk, and she cared so much. The only…

The only family I could care about anymore was Daddy. I missed him so much, more than I missed my mom. I needed him to know what to do, I couldn’t…I don’t know how to be alone anymore, I don’t know how to live for myself, if I ever really did.

Amy, I still feel awful. She even ordered me a suit, knowing I wouldn’t even think to buy one. It chafed, I was so hot and sweaty in that tiny church, listening to everyone drone on about my mother. I jacked off, I was so bored, I jacked off into my filthy underwear at my mom’s funeral, got drunk after, jacked off some more and hit on a few older guys who reminded my of Daddy–none of them took me up on the offer.I didn’t even stick around to the next day–I junked the suit, got back in my real clothes, and drove off.

I got back to Daddy and I sobbed. I was so sorry for leaving him, I was so upset, and he was there for me, he…he understands me, and he knows me like no one else I’ve ever known. He knows what I need better than I do. He held me for an hour in bed, telling me that I was safe, that I would never have to leave again, that he’d never make me leave, that he’d never let me leave. That I belonged with him, that there was nowhere else that I could ever belong anymore, other than here. He fed me a big dinner, I drank a huge load of piss he’d been saving for me all day, I cleaned his nasty crack…and by the next morning, I could almost pretend that none of it had ever happened. But it had, and I don’t…it changed me.

I saw how worthless I am. How stupid I am. I couldn’t understand what Daddy saw in me, I couldn’t understand why he loved me, unless it was pity. I thought about leaving, I couldn’t bear the thought of subjecting someone to me, but I was too scared. I acted out, I pushed back, I made him spank me, and I liked it, and he liked it, and he got rougher, and meaner, and I begged him for more. I didn’t deserve to be his boy, I said. I’m too much of a fuck up, I’m a waste.

He made me eat his ash one day, right out of the tray. I licked it up–it was so…dry, but some of his piss helped wash it down. He fed me his cigar butts, and some of his trash. I…I begged him for his shit. I wanted to be his toilet. I wanted to prove to him, and to myself, that it wasn’t a lie, that I was as low as that, that I was a toilet. He refused, and so I filled the back of my briefs with a load of my own, dropped them to the ground, got down and started eating my own shit, right there in the kitchen. I’d…practiced already. I knew I liked it, and when I saw how hard he was in his briefs, I wondered why he’d refused. He fucked my shitty hole, made me clean off his cock, and then I was under his rim chair, eating his shit straight from the source, and it only…I only got hungrier, after that.

It was summer again, already. Most of my days were spent outside doing work around the cabin, naked aside from a pair of Daddy’s old boots, my shit, piss and cum stained briefs or jockstraps, and a pair of work gloves. I lost a bit of fat and bulked up again, but when you crest 400, there’s only so much that muscle can do to make you not look like a tub of lard. In the mirror I barely recognized myself anymore. I looked so much like him now, it disturbed me. Still, he’s happy–that’s what matters, right? That’s why I came here, that’s why I agreed to be his cleaner. It seems so far away now, but it’s only been a year and a few months. I feel like I’ve known him for years, and that he’s known me my whole life. I have no secrets from him, I can’t lie to him, I can’t lie at all, really. My sister called, worried about me, and I told her everything, or as much as I could before she hung up, and she hasn’t called again since.

Fall is here again, and everything is dying. I feel like I’m dying too, day my day, curling up into myself, into this cabin, into Daddy. I’ve…been pissing the bed, most nights, and Daddy started forcing me to wear diapers at night, for protection. I feel so small in them, and he looms over me, grinning down, humping the front of my diapers with his cock until I cum, gasping, and then he shoves his cock down my throat, and when he cums, I keep sucking, hungry for more–more food, more piss, more cock, more ass. I want him to fill me up, because all I ever feel, when I’m alone, is empty. I shouldn’t be here. I should run, but I won’t. I can’t. Even…going to town now, fills me with such anxiety, I can’t go without him anymore. We’re supposed to have the first snow tonight, and everything will be white again. Maybe it can cover me up, until I disappear too.

My Training Journal (Part 3)

Entry 55

Felix says I can write in you no more. He over here now helpin me move out cause i gotta go live with him now he says because i can’t go back to school cause i just a big dumb muscle slave. I guess hes write though i can’t think very hard anymore bout anythin other than working out and cocks and shit like that but I really like thinking about that stuff so maybe its ok!

I just wanted to tell you that im doin good on training and shit. I can ride Master’s fuck machine for a good hour now which is like super cool, makes me wanna jizz a bit but you know i cant. Not sure the last time i shoot but master says thats normal that i wont even wanna think about it soon because my worthless dick wont even be there much longer.

Fuck so much i wanna write but my head cant figure out how to word it. I’m gonna live with master for my own good from now on i suppose which is good. Hes helping me move out now. I dont  need much really just the clothes he gave me to wear (the rubber and lycra and all the stuff thats so fuckin sexy on my huge bod, but I told you about that!) Oh! Master says i cant go back to college but that he found a night school for me instead! With classes and games and dancing and professors and everything, just like a real school but for stupid fagwhores like me! Im super excited to see what its like though. Anyway dont miss me too much!!! Master says ill be ok and happy and stuff and hes never been wrong before so why would he be wrong now, right?

Entry 56

Guess I underestimated that musclefag a bit! It’s a damn good thing he never showed this to anyone, or I probably would have been up shit creek by now. Still, whatever-his-name (I just call him Bitch usually, or Fag sometimes) has been doing really well since he moved in with me a few months back–I’m sure he’d be real proud of himself if he had much capacity for self-reflection anymore, but all of that is pretty much gone. Just a drooling idiot at this point. Even if I hadn’t taken this thing away from him it wouldn’t have mattered–he can’t even write anymore, so why would he have a journal?

Heh, I say he, but I don’t know what Bitch would really count as anymore. It doesn’t have a cock anymore, after all, or a sack. Supposedly the balls just get sucked up and still produce a minimal amount of hormones designed to keep up its muscle mass, but looking at the crotch? You wouldn’t know what it is. You should see the looks it gets, walking down the street in those tight lycra pants, tight enough to crawl up the crack of his wide, wide ass (wider now that we’ve been working in some collagen injections) but on the front, just nothing. No bulge, not even an outline. People don’t know what the fuck it is, and Bitch is too oblivious to even realize it’s a freak of nature at this point. Its pecs are massive, way out of proportion, with huge nipples. Got them pierced, and as soon as I can it’ll be swinging doorknockers from them, which will make its routine at the clubs just that much stranger and sexier. Lips too, got them inflated nice and puffy, great for blowjobs now that its gag reflex is finally gone–that took forever with this one!

Just re-read that last entry he made! Fucking night school, what a dipshit. Didn’t have to keep up that gag for too long, once it settled into the routine. Dancing for patrons, getting shoved in a gloryhole booth for hours on end, and of course, private rentals with his favorite “professors” four or five nights of the week. It just needs a whole lot of tutoring, I suppose. Anyone who wants it for a night can have it, and the rich old fags at these places love the idea of some docile adonis worshiping them for hours on end, no cock of its own to compete with their needs. I got so many regular customers I have a waiting list two weeks long! I suppose what that really means, is that I need to grow the stable a bit, right? Well don’t worry–I got a new athlete all lined up already. A bit older this time, bit of a muscle daddy in his late 30’s looking to get bigger. Well, we can do that. Still, I think I need to diversify my product line a bit–keep the hair on this one, and a big huge cock. Might as well corner the bottom market too, right? I think so. I think I’ll even have him keep a journal too, since reading through this thing while Bitch sucks me off make me nut like nothing else. His first sessions tomorrow, and I can’t fucking wait.

My Training Journal (Part 2)

Entry 14

Ok. I gotta talk about this. I mean, I can’t talk to anyone about this, because fuck, but i gotta put this down somewhere. Am I fucking crazy? Was that just really fucking crazy, what happened today? Because part of me feels so fucking good, and I just had Felix’s cock in my–

I can’t deal with that yet, I don’t want to think about it.

Fuck. How did that even happen, anyway? I mean. I was in the fucking zone, like always, working out, being a damn beast, as he likes to say. And I was feeling good! Damn good really. Really into it, lifting counting, my head just out of the damn zone or something

God, what the fuck am I even writing anymore, nothing is coming out like any sense at all.

I’m lying on the bench, pumping some iron, and he’s spotting me, and I remember seeing it, the tent in his shorts. I see it, but I don’t think much of it. I’ve seen guys get erections before, whatever, you know? It happens. But I’m looking at it, and then I’m *looking at it* and thinking about it, and I think I can smell it, or I can smell something, and it smells damn good, or I’m hungry or something, and I’m just…my eyes won’t fucking look away! And he fucking notices me looking at it, and I’m embarrassed as all fuck, of course, cause guys aren’t supposed to be looking at each other’s junk, and I apologize, and he asks me if I’m fucking gay! Just fucking asks me. I tell him no of course, and rack the weight, because I can’t keep focus on what I’m doing. He starts tell me that he’s gay, that he thinks it’s really hot, watching me work out, so he gets hard on occasion, and…and I feel like I should be freaking out when he tells me this, but it just seems fucking normal as any shit he might say. A guy I trust literally tells me he pops a boner thinking about me, and I’m like “Oh cool, whatevs”!

We keep going, but I can’t stop looking at it, thinking about it. He asks me if I want to see it…and I don’t not want to see it, I guess. I’m kinda fucking curious what’s making that huge damn bulge, you know? So he drops his shorts, and the thing is massive, like nine inches, and we just keep working out like nothing is up, and it’s inches from my damn face. We get through another few reps, the things leaking a bit on my forehead, but I can’t move, I can’t even wipe it off, and he asks if I want to suck it.

I said yes.

I fucking said yes, why the fuck did I say yes!

He said he wasn’t surprised, that I should feel submissive to him, since he’s my trainer, since he’s the one leading me and guiding me, that intimacy is just natural between men of our physical caliber, that there’s nothing we should be ashamed of. I have a huge cock buried down my throat so far I’m fucking gagging, and it’s nothing to be ashamed of, he says!

He tells me to bend over the bench, and I do. He peels down my shorts, grips my ass (which is fucking bigger now, I can fucking tell) and starts kneading it, before shoving his face in and eating my sweaty crack like it’s a fucking pussy. I think I moaned. I fucking hope I didn’t moan. He fucked me and I let him. His whole cock was in my ass and he came and I came and then we fucking kept working out and now I want to either die or have him fuck me all over again, right fucking now, because fuck it felt good it felt so fucking good

Entry 26

Fuck yeah man, six fuckin weeks!!! Time for a status update on my big fuckin bod. Big dont even begin to describe it really but I dont really got a better word. Biceps are huge. Pecs are fuckin huge. Fuck, Felix gropes them like tits sometimes when hes balls deep in my hole, pinches these thick nips of mine makes me so damn hot for his cock every fuckin time. Waist is narrower I guess, my ass is big round and fuck perfect of course! Got abs too. Never had abs before, always had a bit of a gut but since we started cutting a week ago they just fuckin popped out man!

Course the rest of the stuff Im doing helps make me look like a sexy muscled out fuck too. Felix was so totally right (not that Felix is ever wrong you know i mean duh!) that all that hair on my body was looking dumb and trashy and messy. The pills and drugs have been helping of course. My hairs been falling out for weeks, from everywhere! Head, face, chest, legs, you name it. Started shaving too, all over. It takes forever but damn my skin feels so fuckin good when it’s done, all smooth and shit. Fuck, I get done shavin my crack and slip my fingers in there in fuck myself, thinkin about Felixs big cock and how much I want him inside me

All the fuckin time now, ya gotta believe me. I swear I get there ready to workout and we fuck. We do some cardio we fuck. We lift, we fuck. Fuck fuck fuck, gettin’ my nub hard as we fuckin speak thinkin about it. I tried to tell Felix it shouldn’t be this small (its like three inches or something and my balls are smaller too) but he just told me not to worry about it. That small cocks on big guys are really sexy to him, and if he thinks its sexy then I should agree with him of course! I mean, I stare at myself a lot (alot a lot, I mean, all the fuckin time) but thats the one thing that just bugs me still I guess. Still nothing to do about it! Anyway gotta do my homeowrk and then head over there for todays training, and this big dildo won’t fuck itself.

My Training Journal (Part 1)

Entry 1

Alright. Step one? Training Journal. Check. Well, step two, I suppose, since I already managed to snag a personal trainer! How about that, you know? Man, coach isn’t going to believe the improvement when I show up on campus in fall, it’ll be like a brand new me! First string varsity, here I come!

As for the trainer, it’s a guy named Felix who works at the supplement store, where I was picking up my protein powders. We got to chatting and he mentioned that he spends his free time working a personal trainer for athletes, but that he didn’t have enough clients at the moment, so he was stuck working here as well. The guy is ripped, fuck! He’s like his own walking advertisement! His rates were damn cheap as well (not that I said that, of course, but charging what he does, no wonder he needs a second job!), and he even offered to help me out with nutrition as well, and gave me a free sample of his homemade protein and energy booster. I just tried it out at the gym, and holy fuck!!! I’ve never lifted like that in my damn life, it was like I was two of me or something. I mean, I ache like fuck right now, for sure, my legs are like jelly, but it’s obvious that guy gets results.

Anyway, I cancelled my gym membership too–Felix has a home gym of his own where I’ll be working out this summer–hell, with his low rate and no gym membership, I’m actually saving money, can you believe it? Things are finally looking up, and I can’t wait for tomorrow so we can get started.

Entry 10

Alright, so it’s been two weeks since my first workout with Felix! He promised I’d start seeing results right about now, and so I’m weighing in and doing some measurements before I go and see him for a bit, since I want to do them without being biased by that guys positivity. Damn, he’s really fucking good at what he does, I gotta say. He says he’s not looking for more clients, but I’d probably get the whole damn football team to train with him, if he was willing!!! Something about working out with him, you…feel so calm and connected. Aware of your body somehow, in a way you aren’t usually. Like your head’s running on auto pilot or something, and he’s pushing you to levels you’d never even imagined before all of this. Fuck, I’m gushing like I have a crush on him or something (Though if I was gay, I’d probably be all over him, gotta say) so I should just measure.

Damn, this is fucking impressive! Added an inch to both my biceps. Looking at this selfie I just took, my abs aren’t really more defined at the moment because we’ve started out with a bulking cycle, but my waist seems a bit narrower (to think coach said I’d never be able to get that ‘V’ shape!” Maybe it’s not really my waist, but more my ass, which is a bit thicker. I didn’t measure that before, but at least I have a baseline for it now, if nothing else. Probably all those squats he’s making me do, I swear! The guy’s in love with me working my legs. Then again, I’ve always been one of those guys who might skip a leg day on occasion, you know? Probably for the best that I’ve got someone looking out for my best interests!

Overall, I gotta say I’m damn satisfied. A few things are a bit worrying I guess, or maybe just a bit strange? My sex drive is down a bit, which is odd. I’m usually a huge horn dog, but ever since I started this new workout, I’ve just felt…exhausted. Well, that’s not quite true. These nutritional boosters I’ve been taking have be more alert than ever, and I’m eating a fuckton of food–following Felix’s meal plans of course, so most of it’s protein and some heavy carb load to keep me bulking for the moment. Gotta gain to put on muscle, as he says! Still, what was I saying? Kind of hard to focus on shit, when my head feels like it’s wired to the damn light socket. Right, I just…don’t feel it as much, you know? Jacking off is harder than it was, and feels kind of like a waste of time. Looking at it now, it actually seems a bit smaller. I’ll measure it.

Yeah, a bit shorter? Maybe it’s just this ruler in particular. Only six and a half, instead of seven like usual…maybe I’ve just been exaggerating a bit. Balls seem a bit smaller too, for whatever reason, but maybe it’s just my bush. A lot of guys I know shave to make their junk look bigger, but I’m so damn hairy it would take me for fucking ever to do it every day! Besides, I like the natural look myself, and the beard I’ve been growing looks good. Felix says it doesn’t suit me, but fuck him–he’s my trainer, not my damn stylist. Anyway, I’ll probably ask him about the cock and ball stuff when I see him today, cause that is a bit strange. I looked up the supplements he’s giving me, on the internet, and couldn’t find anything about them, which is really weird too. Maybe it’s a side effect or something? Who knows, some of this shit can be dangerous if you aren’t careful, but I’ll ask him first. He knows his shit, after all, and he’s my trainer–he only has my best interest at heart, as he says.

“What do you think, MoJo? You wanna work out some more?” the man smirked at the huge brute, finishing a set at the gym.

“please, I’m tired, I just wanna go home…” MoJo said, “and stop…calling me MoJo, it’s not my name?”

“Oh? Then what is your name? If you can give me another name, a true name, this will all be over. Then again, you can’t, can you? Because I have your name now, which means I get to call you whatever I want.”

MoJo still didn’t understand how this had happened. He’d been downtown, and seen a couple of faggots kissing outside a bar, and chucked a rock at them. Konked one on the head, and then this other guy had been next to him, asking him for his name, and then…and then this! He looked down at himself, unable to believe how big he’d become in just a few hours. He looked like a freak!

“Well, if you really want to stop, we can work on something else, MoJo. I think you’re looking like a proper musclefag anyway.”

“I’m not a musclefag!” MoJo fumed, “Not a fag at all…”

“No?” the man said, “I’m calling you a musclefag. Empty headed, musclefag MoJo, all brawn and no brains, but wouldn’t hurt a fly–you’re too good of a guy for that. More interested in finding some guy to plow one of your holes anyway, though you’ll always stand up for a fag in trouble, right?”

MoJo was shaking his head, but it was emptying out father than he could understand. The guy was right, after all. He’d been called a musclefag all his life, and they were right. He was muscles, and he was a fag! What else could he be? “I don’…” he started to say, but lost his train of thought almost immediately. “Fuck, I’m horny–wanna fuck my ass?”

“Only if I can fuck it right here, where anyone can see you through those windows.”

MoJo nodded dumbly–he was happy for a fuck or a suck anywhere. He bent over the bench and the man yanked down his shorts, sliding into his well used hole, and MoJo sighed, wondering if he could get back to the club before it closed, and find a few other guys willing to plow a dumb musclefag like him before the night was over.

The place was a sty, sure, but they hadn’t seemed that bad at the bar. They weren’t exactly the kind of guys he usually hung out with–Barry was a bit of a social climber, and if he didn’t think someone had anything to offer him, he wasn’t likely to hand around for long. But these two, they seemed…different. So laid back and relaxed, working their basic jobs at the warehouse, smelling like they hadn’t showered in a few days. One of them had spilled their drink on his suit, and Barry had cussed him out; they’d bought him another one, stuck around to chat, and now here he was, at their apartment. Strange, he hadn’t even bothered to get their names! One of them went into the kitchen and brought back a round of beers for the three of them, handed one to Barry, and the night continued.

Three beers later…

Something definitely wasn’t right. His suit felt so damn tight all of a sudden! At first he’d thought it was just the fact he was a bit woozy with alcohol, but no, his clothes…really didn’t fit him very well all of a sudden. He took another swig of beer, trying to follow whatever football game the guys were watching, but he’d never been much of a sports guy, he was too wiry and short for that. He leaned back, trying to make some room, and a button popped free of his shirt, striking the TV, the guys turning…and leering at him, while Barry started down at his…his new gut in horror.

“Think he needs another beer man.”

“I’ll get it, why don’t you get him a bit more comfortable?”

The guy got up, walked over, grabbed the front of Barry’s shirt and ripped it open, buttons flying everywhere, and Barry’s hefty, and rather hairy gut spilled out. This wasn’t right.

“Guys, I think I should go…” Barry said, tried to stand up, but he couldn’t keep his balance.

“No way man, no way you can drive like this–best just stay over, you know?” said the other guy, returning from the kitchen with another can, “Here, have some more.”

He didn’t want it, but he took it anyway, swigging deep, and letting loose a belch. Did his gut just…grow when he did that? He knew that was impossible, but…

Four more beers later…

The two guys were still watching sports, but Barry wasn’t watching anything. The world was swimming around him, he couldn’t…quite feel his body. The worst part, however, was that he needed to piss, had needed to piss for ages it felt like, but he couldn’t, not here, not just…in his pants.

His hand moved up, pouring more beer in his mouth, though a good amount dribbled out. Beer was good, made him feel warm and comfortable, made it easier to just, let go of things.

Too late, he realized he’d let go of his bladder, soaking his suit pants. The guys had noticed as well, they were saying something, but he couldn’t hear what. One pulled the can from his hand and replaced it with a fresh beer, and he kept drinking as best he could. It felt like his brain was slowly being choked off, deadened. 

Six more beers later…

Just a pig now. The guys had stripped it of all it’s clothes, and had it sucking their cocks, drinking their piss, getting it used to their scent. Nothing was left of the asshole businessman they’d decided to take down the night before, their ultra strong beer had made short of his weakass mind, leaving him with barely enough faculty to serve, provided they kept him provided with plenty of beer from now on, of course.

Drinking it all the time would only make him heavier of course. And hairier. But that was how the two friends liked their pigs. And when they got sick of it? It was definitely still a seller’s market.

Canine Initiation

Story commissioned by Karwood, based up on art drawn by Kuma. The art is down a bit, into the story–I don’t want to spoil it! Kuma is a super amazing furry artist, and the rest of his gallery can be found on Furaffinity right here. (If you don’t have an FA account, much of his art will probably be invisible to you–if you want to see if, you’ll have to create an account and enable adult image viewing in your user preferences.)

Blake should just give up, but that damn buck had been such a beauty. Eight pointer, would have looked fabulous on his wall, but he’d never quite managed to line up a clean shot all day. His main fear was that some other hunter might get something off first, but he liked this area because it was a bit deeper into the woods than a lot of guys liked to bother travelling, and so he didn’t really have to worry too much about other people around. He liked the solitude, the quiet–tracking the prey was almost as much fun as the adrenaline rush of the kill. But he’d lost it–he’d snapped a twig, and while the buck hadn’t been completely spooked by him, it had taken off at a good gait. If he made too much of a racket, then it really would have been gone. He’d managed to follow it by trail for about half a mile, but now he’d lost it. Looking around, he also realized he had a bigger problem–he…wasn’t quite sure where, exactly, he was.

He tried to get his bearings, but the dense canopy made it hard to orient himself, he pulled out his compass, and knew that if he just kept heading west, he’d hit the highway eventually. This part of the state had a few large patches of private property which he’d been hoping to avoid, but if he stumbled across anyone, at least they’d be able to get him back to civilization, right? So he set off, still angry at himself for getting so caught up in the pursuit that he’d let plenty of opportunities to get off a half-decent shot go by. Still, maybe it was for the best. He’d have loved a new trophy, sure, but give that big boy another season or two, and then he’d have a real magnificent head for his wall. The early fall was already starting to develop a chill, and he pulled his coat tighter around him, and checked his compass again. How far had he gone off trail, exactly? Blake wasn’t at all sure how far he’d hiked, and the buck had led him around in a few circles, but had he really gone in this deep? Certainly he didn’t recognize anything he was passing–even if he did find the highway, he’d still have a long trek back to his truck back along the road. It was already afternoon, judging by the light filtering down, and he dug out some food from his pocket to stave off his hunger.

The trees began to thin, letting in more light. Up ahead, he could see a clearing–that might help him better judge where he was exactly in the forest. As he came to the edge of the trees, he saw a field dominated by tall grass and a few shrubs, and there, a few hundred yards in the distance, he saw a couple of men talking. He started to signal them, but paused and took a closer look, One of the men was dressed in fairly typical hunting garb–his back was to Blake, and so he couldn’t see much of him–but the other guy was…naked? Or just shirtless? It was hard to tell through the grass. But as he watched, crouched in the trees, the naked guy started to…shift. It was difficult to describe what, exactly, was happening, but the rather thin young man’s face started to contort and push out into a muzzle, ears growing larger and floppy, and his skin was changing color…or rather, he thought as he watched, it was hair growing all over his body–on his back, in was reddish brown, and on his belly it was white. What in the world was he watching? In a matter of moments, the man was gone, replaced by what would seem to be a perfectly normal foxhound had he not witnessed…whatever in the world that had been.

The hound jumped up on the man, and he could hear barking from him and laughter from the man. The man turned around, and that was when he gasped, because the man wasn’t really a man at all, but some…strange abomination. It…was standing like a man–of all things it was even smoking a pipe!–but the face, it looked more like his old labrador retriever than a man. What in the world should he do? Run? Hide? Tell the police? He wasn’t even sure of what he’d just seen, and who would even believe him? He could hear the hound barking now, with more urgency. The strange man looked down at the hound, and then up, his eyes scanning the line of trees where Blake was hiding, and all at once, he realized he was both upwind from them, and that his gasp might have been more of a scream. The grass was waving now, obviously the foxhound was on the case, and searching him out. Did he really have a choice then? He stood up and ran back the way he’d come, heart pounding in his chest, not at all wanting to be caught by…by whoever, and whatever they were.

The forest was much easier to traverse when he wasn’t running in fear of his life. Roots kept rising up from the fallen leaves to trip him, and that damn dog wouldn’t stop baying behind him. It was so loud in the dense wood that he couldn’t accurately judge how far away it was from him. It could be right at his heels, or yards and yards away. He checked over his shoulder, and in the crashing and rustling of foliage that assured him he was still being pursued. He was trying to heft himself over a fallen tree, half rotted, when he heard another bay immediately behind him, a weight slammed into his back and sent him tumbling over the other side of the log, flipping heels over head and landing on his back, the hound alighting in front of him, turning and staring at him.

They just…looked at each other for the longest time, Blake in terror, and the hound with an intense curiosity, before the hound started to chop–short, clipped barks in pairs, signaling his master where he was, and that the prey had been cornered. Blake tried to scramble up, but the hound jumped on him, pinning him to the floor with a snarl–eyes curious, but not above using force if necessary. Moving as little as possible, he reached down, slipped the band off the hilt of his knife, and with one attempted fluid motion, pulled it out and swung for the hounds throat, but it hopped to the side, Blake scrambling to his feet, looking for an escape route. He didn’t get one step further. The master leapt up on the log behind him, and before Blake could turn around, the butt of the shotgun slammed into the side of his head, and he was out before he hit the ground.

He heard something between a sigh and a quiet whine, the thump of a tail against the ground.

“Oh would you stop giving me that look? I know you think he’s cute.”

Blake let out a groan. His head was throbbing. The last thing he could remember was the strange…dog man thing looming over him, and he tried to move–but his hands had been bound behind him, his feet and legs tied up similarly, and he’d been set up against the trunk of a tree. He opened his eyes, but he wasn’t sure where he was–the light had dimmed a bit further, but it was still sometime in the late afternoon or evening. He couldn’t have been unconscious for long. He looked over and he saw his attackers a few feet away. The one who still looked a bit like a person had set up a cooking stove, and something was simmering in a pot. It smelled strongly of earth and mulch, whatever it was. He tried to fiddle with his hands as quietly as he could, but the foxhound’s ears perked up, and he bounded over, planting a foot in his chest and letting a low growl escape his throat. Blake stopped moving, and the hound…smirked, and started licking his face. Blake tried to fend him off, but he kept licking for a moment, and then bounded back to his master, and nuzzled at something on the ground by the dogman’s boot.

“I already told you, no. We’re just going to send him on a trip, and dump him by the highway–it’s easier.”

The foxhound started baying then, over and over, even when the lab told him to hush. Blake just stayed still, feeling out his bonds, wondering if he’d get a chance to try and escape.

“God, you are just…fine, alright? If it’ll make you happy. But I’m gonna make it strong–I don’t need another halfy like you giving me a headache. Two of you would just be insufferable.”

The foxhound gave a sharp bark and jumped at the dogman, licking his face, nearly knocking the pipe from his mouth.

“Alright, alright! you know what I mean, I’m sorry.”

He picked up something off the ground, the thing the foxhound had nudged, and dropped it into the pot. Blake kept fidgeting, but these ropes were well tied–he wasn’t going to be able to slip them. His one chance then, might be to try and reason with whatever the hell these things were. “I…I won’t tell anyone, please, you can just let me go.”

“Oh I know,” the dogman said, letting loose a plume of smoke, “You aren’t the first hunter to wander onto my property.”

Blake watched him stir the pot for a moment. “What is that stuff anyway?”

“Mushroom broth. It’ll help with your head. Sorry about that, but I can’t be too careful with this one,” he gave the hound a pat on the rump, “He gets excited. Couldn’t have you hurting him, you know. Mycology has always been a hobby of mine–don’t worry, it ain’t poison. Anyway, that should do it.” He poured off the broth into an aluminum cup, and brought it over to where Blake was sitting, and held it under his nose. This close, the vapor and smell was much stronger…and made him feel a bit woozy all of a sudden. “Now, if I untie you, you’re going to be good, and do what I say, right?”

Blake nodded, not even really aware that he was. The dogman bent him forward and loosened the knots around his wrists. Blake rubbed some life back into them, and then accepted the hot cup from the man, who told him to drink all of it. The taste was pungent, and not at all delicious, but once he got a taste, he found drinking the whole thing wasn’t too much of a struggle. His head did stop throbbing. If anything, the pain felt…distant all of a sudden, like it was happening in some other body he was only somewhat attached to. In fact, his whole body felt that way, numb and not his own. His head lolled a bit, the cup rolling out of his hand, and the one sensation he felt at this point was an overwhelming, undeniable horniness.

“Well boy, you’re the one who wanted him so badly–why don’t you help him out?”

The foxhound walked over and used his teeth to open the fly of Blake’s pants, and then ripped open the front of his briefs. Blake, however, wasn’t sure anymore what was real, and what wasn’t. Everything felt so full of light all of a sudden. Squinting up at the beast looming over him, face wreathed in smoke, he thought he said, “Who are you? What did you just give me?” He didn’t get a reply, and so he wasn’t at all sure that the words had actually gotten free of his brain and mouth.

He felt the hound licking at his cock now, and he tried to push him away with his hands, but they felt like putty. He wasn’t even sure how to move them. He wasn’t even sure he had hands anymore at all. However, he knew that what he was seeing at his crotch had to be a hallucination–it looked like, instead of his usual human cock, it had been…replaced, and instead, he had a furry sheath, and thick red…something was pushing out of it. Whatever it was, the foxhound was licking it eagerly, and it did feel good.

“Ya know, boy? He is kinda cute, now that I get a better look at him,” the man said. The smoke was…everywhere now. He couldn’t get a look at anything, it was all too hazy. Something pushed it’s way against his mouth and he tried to resist. “Now now, be a good doggy and open up for master.”

It looked like a bright red mushroom, but it was so warm and slick. Blake opened his jaw slightly, disturbed by the sudden crack of bone and tightness of tendon, but he allowed the head inside his mouth. It looked like…like his own, new cock. Was he turning into mushrooms? Everything felt so strange, nothing in the world was making any sense. He wrenched himself away from the two dogmen, his heart pounding, and crawled away from them, skin burning, eyesight blurry, like the world was slowly being drained of color. He tried to speak, but the words came out as inhuman gibberish, but then the lab was beside him, running one heavy paw down his back…and it felt good.

“Who’s a good boy?” he asked.

That voice. Before it had sent chills and unease through him, the gruffness, the odd inflection of vowels forced through his odd snout. But hearing it now, it made him feel safe and happy and…calm. He arched his back a bit and leaned to the side, unaware that his legs were shortening and growing thinner, the tattered remains of his pants slipping off his ass as his knees left the ground, and he found himself standing on his hands and feet, and it was so comfortable, so…normal.

“Come on boy, daddy still has a bone for you…” the lab said. The voice lulled him in, and even though the world had turned to a swath of dull greens and blues, the cock in front of him gleamed. He licked the head, his tongue extending much further than it ever could before, and then he opened his jaws again and allowed the lab, no, allowed his…master to push it in deeper into his maw, to the beginning of his throat, while the other dog came up behind him, sniffed Blake’s ass for a moment, admiring the short tail already growing out at the base of his spine, and then wormed his way underneath Blake, forcing him off their master’s cock for a moment, and Blake found his cock pressing up against the hound’s own hole.

“He’s always loved having other mutts ride him, that’s how we met in the first place,” the lab said with a chuckle, the hound giving a short, indignant chop in response. “Go on then, you know what to do.”

Somehow, he did. It didn’t feel like he knew much anymore. So much of his mind seemed to have simplifed and smoothed out while he wasn’t paying attention. What he’d mistaken for euphoria had been more than just pleasure, it had been his cares, memories, goals, everything human, everything that had made him Blake, slowly dissolving away. There wasn’t much of him left now, enough to be aware that something had happened to him, that this was wrong, that he was no longer…a person. He looked down at his front legs, at the dark brown fur running the length, at his paws. Everything was as it should be, and yet nothing was right.

“I said fuck him boy,” the lab said, the said to himself,  “God, I hope I didn’t make ya too stupid, or training you is gonna take ages.”

He slipped his cock inside, then deeper. It felt…amazing. The foxhound gave a long bay, as soon as Blake slipped in deep, humping a bit wildly, not quite sure how to slow down his instincts. His master’s cock appeared in front of him again, and he licked it, the foxhound beneath him gritting it’s fangs a bit at the size of Blake’s shaft, and then he was suddenly cumming, and he let loose a howl he could barely believe had come from his own throat, and a moment later, the lab shot, coating Blake’s face with his own seed. Blake licked it off, enjoying the taste, and then tried to extricate himself from the other dog’s hole, but for some reason it was difficult to remove, like something had inflated, keeping them tied together. With a pop, they finally managed to come apart, Blake landing on his back, and he was able to look down at himself, at his new body…and yet it was the only body he could recall having. In his heart he knew he was different, that he had been something different, a…a master, even. But that wasn’t what he was anymore.

“Well, now we went and wasted the evening–I hope you’re happy,” the lab said, looking down at the foxhound who was panting, eyes bright, Blake’s cum still dribbling from his hole. “Come on, let’s go home and kennel up our new friend here. The lab gave a whistle, Blake’s ears perked up, and he got back on all four feet and trotted off after his master. He didn’t know where they were going, but one thing he knew for certain, was that his Master knew best, and that he’d follow him to the ends of the earth.