Your destination for gay bear MC/TF erotic fiction since 2006.
Tag: mind drain
“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.
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.
This isn’t my body. I have to remember that; this isn’t my body, this is fucking Lenny’s body, that fat fucking freak down the hall. I always saw him looking at me, that fucking envious glare of his, but I’d always assumed he was just a pervert. I’d never imagined that he’d do something like this. I don’t even know what this is–one night I go to sleep, the next I wake up in this filthy bed, in this disgusting body, but fuck, I’m so horny! So horny, I can’t keep my hands off my cock, off this…this flabby gut, these nipples. His cock’s puny, but every touch is like electricty–fuck, I’m cumming, I’m fucking cumming!
[[Orgasm energy conversion complete. Mental shift towards target levels 30%. Permanence level, 15%]]
What the fucking hell was that? Some voice inside my head? At least that raging need to jack off is passed, I swear, feeling this fat of mine gets me so amped up sometimes–
No, what? I don’t…I mean…I gotta get up, but I’m fucking tired as hell. It would feel better just…to lie back down and jack off again, but I gotta get to my old apartment. Is…that a note there, on the table?
Feeling good yet? If not, just keep jacking off. Fuck, I hated being that old, fatass, but the best thing about these nanites I stole? They can fucking rewrite anyone’s brain if you give them enough energy. So you’re going to love being me, I guarantee it. You wouldn’t want to change back even if we could–not that you’ll remember much before too long. If everything goes according to plan, you won’t even be able to read this letter soon enough! Thanks for the young muscular body–you’ll never see it again, I can promise you that. Have fun and enjoy yourself!
That fucker, what the fuck does any of this even mean? I feel like my head’s trying to move through mud all of a sudden, and damn I’m horny again–that was fucking fast. Might…as well jack off again I guess, felt so damn good the first time.
Yeah, fuck, feels so good, this fat jiggling around me. I never imagined it could feel this fucking nice. These meaty tits, fuck, here I go again!
[[Orgasm energy conversion complete. Mental shift towards target levels 55%.]]
Cum tastes damn good. Gonna have to eat more cum. Wonder where I can get some? Suck some cocks maybe, but first think I’ll jack off again. Feel like a lazy day today, I think, yeah, just fat pig like me lolling in bed, jackin’ off, sounds fuckin’ amazing. Feels so damn good, so sensitive, this puny fuckin’ dick. Never usually this horny, you know…was…was I different before? I kind of remember but its so foggy. Maybe if I cum again I’ll remember better, yeah, just gotta bust another nut–fuck!
[[Orgasm energy conversion complete. Mental shift towards target levels 85%.]]
Nah Never fuckin different. This is me, fat fuck pig, horny motherfucker. Damn could use a cock in me, wonder who I can find? Yeah, some stud buryin’ his dick in my hole, my flab flyin’ back ‘n forth, or givin my tits a fuck, damn yeah, gonna fuckin’ blow again!
[[Orgasm energy conversion complete. Mental shift towards target levels 100%. Program complete—Entering standby mode]]
Whatever. Lenny horny fucker. Gonna find a cock and get fuckin’ bred like the old pig I is, gonna be fuckin’ awesome!
Another touchdown! Both Keith and Marty threw their arms up, shouting with excitement. Their team was doing great, and Keith couldn’t be happier if he’d tried, sitting here with his favorite person, his brother, watching the game with him. He grinned over at him, grabbed another handful of potato chips and shoved the whole wad into his mouth, chewing loudly with his mouth open, washing it all down with his seventh can of beer, a huge belch rumbling out of his fat belly. He gave it a pat, feeling it jiggle and wiggle around him. It felt…damn good, actually. Like Marty had told him, he’d always been a fat ass–he couldn’t stop eating if he fucking tried, he loved it so much–drinking too–and it showed, nearly six hundred pounds of flab, but he didn’t care. Like Marty said, he found it…kind of hot, actually.
He still wasn’t feeling quite like himself though. Ever since he’d sat down and started watching the game, he’d felt…almost like he was in a dream. Marty was there for him though, reminding him to get the snacks and beer, talking with him while they waited through replays, about all sorts of things. Like…like his lucky jersey. He’d worn in for years, ever since their team had won the superbowl, and he wore it for every game, religiously. He never washed it, so it stank to high hell, and was easily three sizes too small at this point, but it just didn’t feel right not wearing it, right? In fact, Marty had been doing most–or rather, all of the talking. Keith had focused on cheering during the game–with how hard it was to think, he didn’t feel capable of keeping up a conversation at the moment. Besides, it was more important for him to listen to Marty. Marty was the smart one, the clever one…but his eyes kept going to the clock next to their family portrait, and Marty noticed.
“Worried about the time, bro?” Marty asked him.
“Just…wondering when…Tara and the boys…” he said, but couldn’t complete the thought through the haze in his head.
Marty smacked his head and scowled at himself. Fuck, he’d forgotten–that would have made a mess of things for sure. “Why in the hell would that bitch be coming here? She hates your guts. The two of you haven’t laid eyes on each other since that last time she dragged you to court over missing your alimony payments. You’re lucky you didn’t lose partial custody over that shit.”
Keith looked at his brother, confused…but he…he was right. Tara hated him, and she kind of had good reason to. “Yeah…don’t know…why I’d thought…”
“Don’t worry about it bro, you hate women anyway. They fucking disgust you. The only people you want to spend time around is family. Especially me, your best friend. Your best big brother in the whole world. You love me more than anyone, right?”
Keith nodded and grinned at him, letting off another belch.
“Yeah, you’re just a fuckin’ deadbeat dad, really. Can’t hold down a job–doesn’t help that you dropped out of school, still, considering how stupid you are, that ain’t surprising. Luckily we could move in together–I support you, but that’s ok. There’s nothing you’d rather do, aside from lounging around the house, naked all the time, stuffing your face, drinking beer, watching TV, and loving me.”
This time, even Marty could feel it, the changes sweeping through them. The house around them began rotting–there was no way either of them could live in a neighborhood like that, after all. Still, served the fucker right, Marty thought. They ended up in a double wide trailer in some rundown park–still nicer than pretty much anywhere Marty had lived before, and it felt like home, his brother splayed out on the couch next to him, completely naked aside from his lucky jersey, eyes glued to the TV.
“Oh, and smoking cigars, of course. You couldn’t live without those.”
The air grew dank and smoky all of a sudden, and Keith sucked deep off his cheap cigar. Smiling, amazed at how well the portrait was working, Marty leaned forward and lit a cigar for himself, sighing smoke out, groping his cock through his filthy shorts, wondering how much further he could push this before getting down to business. Hell, why not now? He could remember how big Keith’s cock had been when they were teenagers, and it had only gotten bigger–but no fucking way did he deserve a tool like that, not after what he did.
“The smoking, the food, the beer–it makes you fucking horny too, right bro? So fucking horny all the time. Too bad you can’t find your inch long cock in all that flab of yours. Just makes you sex crazed all the time, leaking cum everywhere, desperate for release.” He watched Keith start panting, heaving smoke, sweating, crotch damp with precum, “Luckily you have a big brother to take care you, right? Help you out?” He reached over and dug around in keith’s new gunt, finding his miniscule cock, stroking it, watching his obese brother spasm with pleasure. “And luckily you’ll do anything your perverse big brother wants you to do, right? You love satisfying all of my sick, disgusting fantasies. At heart, you’re all bottom. A sex crazed pig, aching to have all of your holes stuffed at all hours. That’s the only way you can cum, with a big cock in your ass or buried in your throat, while you grunt and snort like a pig.”
Keith didn’t make it to halftime, before he tore into his brother’s shorts and started sucking on his cock. He ended up bent over the couch, his brother balls deep in his sloppy hole, dull mind desperate for sex, cock leaking like a faucet onto the already well stained couch. His eyes–he felt them pulled up, to the portrait on the wall. The background, it was swirling again, but his image–it was becoming clearer now–no longer blurry. His massive frame barely contained by his favorite jersey, wearing a pair of massive sweats. His shaven head and face looking even larger, three chins drooping under his thick handlebar mustache, a stupid grin on his face, leaning on his brother, his big brother, the best big brother in the world. With a snap, the portrait froze in place, and it was like all of him came alive again. With a holler, his tiny cock spurted a load into his fatty folds, and Marty shot deep in his filthy brother’s hole, and looked up at the photo. A good start, for sure–but there was still so much room in the portrait. Luckily, he had a few ideas for other people he could add to their family–starting with his new nephews. He knew that they would be so much happier away from their bitch mother for good and living with their dad and uncle, where they really belonged.
DaddySugarBear: I can see that. You were a very good pig, you made daddy cum quite a few times with that performance. Did you enjoy your punishment, pig?
RbbrPissSkinPOS: Yes sir, but he didn’t want me sir
RbbrPissSkinPOS: He didn’t want me to be his slave
DaddySugarBear: And how do you feel about that, pig?
RbbrPissSkinPOS: I really liked serving him sir. I really liked the taste of his cum and piss, and he was fuckin brutal, the way he abused by holes sir, my ass is still leaking
RbbrPissSkinPOS: But why didn’t he want me sir? Wasn’t I good? I did everything he wanted, why didn’t he want me?
DaddySugarBear: Oh pig, maybe he just didn’t want to saddled with a worthless pig. You can’t really blame him, you know. I mean, I sure wouldn’t want you living with me, you’re fucking disgusting!
RbbrPissSkinPOS: I guess but I thought he liked me
DaddySugarBear: That’s why no one asks slaves to think.
DaddySugarBear: Still, we’ve had enough fun for the night, don’t you think pig? What do you say I go ahead and turn you back? Would you like to stop being a pig now? Go back to that dull, boring life of yours?
RbbrPissSkinPOS: No sir, I want to be Masters slave!!!
RbbrPissSkinPOS: Plz you can help me right? Make me a perfect pig for him? Make me so fucking sexy he wont be able to say no to me!
RbbrPissSkinPOS: I’ll do anything but I need him sir, I need a master like him. I’m worthless without him!
DaddySugarBear: Oh? Are you sure?
DaddySugarBear: If you really want to be a slave, then I certainly won’t change you back, not ever, no matter what you say. Is that really what you want?
RbbrPissSkinPOS: Oh fuck sir more than anything!
DaddySugarBear: If you say so.
DaddySugarBear: Still, if you’re going to be Ogar’s slave, then I suppose we should ask Ogar what he would want in a slave, don’t you think?
RbbrPissSkinPOS: Yes sir!
<<Initiate Group Chat.>>
<<Invite contact [OgarBkeDdySdtMstr].>>
<<[OgarBkeDdySdtMstr] has joined the conversation.>>
OgarBkeDdySdtMstr: What the fuck do u want?
DaddySugarBear: This piece of skinhead shit has asked me to help him become worthy of becoming your slave. He says that you rejected his request earlier.
OgarBkeDdySdtMstr: Some request, that turd was fuckin sobbin could barely get a word out. Like Id wants some snivelling little cunt like that as a slave. Slaves take care of there masters not the other way round!
DaddySugarBear: Hmmm…I don’t think this worthless piece of shit is capable of taking care of anyone, much less a master.
OgarBkeDdySdtMstr: No shit! Why do u think I laughed in its face?
RbbrPissSkinPOS: Plz sir! Im sorry sir but I want to serve you! Plz I’ll do anything!
OgarBkeDdySdtMstr: I don’t need shit! Ogar dont need anyone, dont want anyone, specialy not some worthless skinhead bitch!
DaddySugarBear: Ah, so you’re a bit of a lone wolf! I must say that explains quite a bit. Well, I don’t think there’s anyway to resolve this, really, as you both currently stand. I suppose we’ll just have to have you two meet somewhere in the middle.
OgarBkeDdySdtMstr: I aint meeting nowhere! I’m done with that pig, I never wanna see that fuck again
DaddySugarBear: It was just a figure of speech.
DaddySugarBear: Oh nevermind. Hold on….
<<Change initiated…Change applied successfully>>
OgarPimpzPigz: Yeah? What do ya have in mind?
DaddySugarBear: Oh, I’m merely suggesting that you add this piece of skin shit to your stable, is all. Surely you have some clients who might be interested in someone with him peculiar nature.
OgarPimpzPigz: Well sure, but look at it, the thing can’t stop masturbating! He wouldn’t be able to fuckin focus on a client!
DaddySugarBear: Oh that’s a relatively easy fix.
<<Change initiated…Change applied successfully>>
NullPOSSkin: What the fuck!
DaddySugarBear: See? Now he won’t have anything to distract him anymore.
NullPOSSkin: Where’d my cock and balls go, what the fuck!
OgarPimpzPigz: Huh, that would solve the problem, actually. Still, I have urinals. I have skins. I have freaks. He’s gotta bring somethin new to the table, ya know? Somethin to set him apart!
DaddySugarBear: Well, what would your customers want?
OgarPimpzPigz: Ya know u keep callin it a pig, and this one guys been askin me to let me fatten one a my whores up. Willin to pay a fuckin truckload. Suppose he could be useful that way. sides, the pigs already got some cushin, wont be hard packin on some more.
NullPOSSkin: I dont want to be fat and I want my cock back!
DaddySugarBear: Now remember what you asked for. You said you wanted to be his slave.
OgarPimpzPigz: That thing is such a bitch. I dont want no slave that’ll give me back talk. Dont need to be smart–dont need so slave smarter than the pimp ya know?
DaddySugarBear: Oh, I can take care of that, don’t worry about it.
NullPOSSkin: Oh no you fuckin dont!
<<Change initiated…Change applied successfully>>
DaddySugarBear: There that’s much better. Look at that thing now, it’ll be the perfect addition to your stable, I can assure you.
OgarPimpzPigz: Damn, that thing dont look like it has a thought in its head.
DaddySugarBear: That’s because it very nearly doesn’t. No brain left in that skull of its to cause you any trouble, just perfect, blind obedience to anyone it perceives as its superior, which I can guarantee you will be anyone it meets. It’s illiterate, so don’t give it any complicated commands. Simple sentences are best. It should be perfect for your needs.
OgarPimpzPigz: Well yeah, for now! But what happens when its big as a house? Once the guys done with it he aint gonna have a use for it n neither will I! Just a big worthless fat pig!
DaddySugarBear: Well, once it’s big enough that it can’t move, I would suggest installing it as a toilet. It’s so stupid it won’t know the difference. I’m sure you could sell it for a hefty price, or even rent it out, if you’d prefer.
DaddySugarBear: Now, there’s just a matter of my finder’s fee, and we can negotiate my cut of the profits. How much was this man going to pay you for such a whore?
OgarPimpzPigz: What the hell are ya talkin bout! I dont share my money with noone!
DaddySugarBear: Ogar, if you’d like to remain in the pimping profession, and not end up as a toilet pig yourself, I can assure you that my fee is a reasonable price to pay. Besides, I think we may have just happened upon a rather good venture! You bring me the requests from your clients, no matter how outlandish, and I can provide you a perfect whore to match. This whole chat has been quite fun, and I already feel like having another one sometime soon. What do you say, partners?
OgarPimpzPigz: Dont have much a choice do I?
DaddySugarBear: No, I suppose you don’t. Still, you should go pick up that pig before it hurts itself on something sharp by accident. We can hammer out the details later. Have a good night!
“Come on now, don’t be scared–don’t you want to play with a nasty pig like me?”
Fuck, did he ever. Jack quivered, the energy building up inside of him. He’d never really been able to have that much control over, whatever power this was. All he’d ever really been able to do was point it in someone’s direction, give it an idea to go on, and then push–but it was moments like these that terrified him the most, because this was when he realized how little control he had. This would kill him one day, this energy–he could feel it–but at that moment, all he felt was life and vigor throbing in every bit of his body. There was too much light up close and too much dark at a distance, like his vision was scrubbing away everything that wasn’t this…this sexy, disgusting pig in front of him. But he had to fight it. This had already gone too far, no one deserved this. He could feel what the spell wanted, but it needed more from him to make it happen. If he could just get away before it got anything else out of him, then it would lose strength eventually. However, getting away was going to be…difficult.
“Well? Why are you just standing there? Go on, say something, talk dirty to me, tell me what a disgusting fucker I am, I want to hear it.”
“Please…I know you want this, but…but pick someone else, anyone else. You don’t want me,” Jack said, but even as he said it, he knew reason would fall deaf in this space. Curses spoke a twisted logic all their own–the pig had no time for this. But more than that, the spell was…angry. Not that spell could feel emotions, but it could sense him pushing against it, and it was more than ready to push back.
“Oh, but look at you daddy. You obviously came to play tonight. I love a man in uniform–are you here to punish me, officer?” The pig ran a finger down the front of Jack’s leather uniform shirt, tight against his body. Hadn’t…he been wearing something more casual, earlier? It was the spell–it was trying to weaken his resolve, and it was working. The pig started groping Jack’s cock through the tight leather breeches he was wearing, and he groaned, precum leaking into the gap between skin and leather. “Such a big tool, and you don’t want to use it? Am I not naughty enough for you, sir?”
“No–No, I’m not going to fall for this. I know what you’re trying to do.”
“What’s that, daddy?”
“You’re…it’s not going to work, you…stupid pig.”
“Fuck, I am stupid, aren’t I, sir?”
“So fucking stupid, no fucking brains at all. The only thing a pig like you is good for is as a couple of holes for big fucking cocks,” Jack said, his voice turning to a snarl. No, what was he saying? He shook his head, and forced himself to take a step back, ignoring how…hard his cock had gotten saying that. “No, I can fight this. Have some fucking will, Jack!” He said to himself.
The pig laughed, “You don’t have any fucking will daddy. Big fucking stupid brutes like you only know how to do two things–drool, and fuck. Look at that fucking body of yours, every bit of you stuffed with testosterone. No room in that skull for brains. You won’t have any fucking will when I’m done with you,” the pig said, it’s voice dropping into a lower register which made Jack shiver with terror and lust, but the words he said kept reverberating in him. He tried to fight, but he didn’t know how, his body expanding, coating itself with hair, every thought draining from his mind aside from a deep, endless desire to fuck. With one hairy forearm the brute wiped drool from it’s beard, and snarled.
“Fuckin’ pig, damn slut, bend the hell over, gotta fuckin’ plow you!”
He was so…big all of a sudden. Nothing felt right, or was he just clumsy? It didn’t fucking matter, not anymore. He slammed the pig down onto a table and yanked his cock free, ramming it deep, fucking like a beast, huffing and roaring, spittle flying everywhere, pushing his energy out now. Had to fucking punish this pig. This pig was nothing, this pig was property, this pig was worthless! Now there really was a vortex around them, the men surrounding them could feel the curse pulling at their lives, their will, their souls. The room started to bend and warp, shifting and changing into something entirely new, Jack powerless to stop it, powerless to do anything at all. The pig beneath him was shifting as well, changing into…into something. It was coming from him, some image, but he couldn’t keep it straight, all he knew was to fuck, to punish, to brutalize, to mark, to humiliate.
He exploded, at some point. He came, and the spell sucked the last bit of energy from him that it needed, and finally completed itself, the leather bar slowly coming back into focus, no man in the room unchanged at this point, but all Jack could do was keep fucking, and fucking, and fucking.