VIP Package (Part 5)

Jeremy sat, and watched Samuel fuck himself on Mr. Bishop’s massive cock. He didn’t watch because he wanted to–he kept trying to force his eyes to look in any other direction, but Mr. Bishop had ordered his undivided attention, and so he sat, and took it all in, and felt…sick to his stomach. It wasn’t just that his husband was having sex with another man in front of him–part of it was how fucking ugly that man was: old, massively obese, obviously a total pervert. It was also…the fact that Samuel hadn’t once bothered to even look over his shoulder at him. Jeremy wasn’t even sure if Samuel even knew he was sitting behind him. Hell, he wasn’t even sure if this was realy Samuel at all, anymore.

It was hard to say for sure, given how drunk he’d been in his room two days prior, but his husband seemed to have changed even more than before. He really was fatter–and not just by a few pounds. His entire body type had somehow shifted over the course of a few days. Where before, Samuel had been a seasoned muscle bear, the man fucking himself and crying out in pleasure didn’t look like he could be much older than twenty. It was…his skin. He could remember noticing that detail before, but his entire body was just a perfect, pale peach. Barely a freckle or a mole, and not a single hair that could be seen anywhere, aside from on the top of his head, and even then, the thin, short hairs had become a startling blonde. It couldn’t be possible, people couldn’t just change like that, but he could still see that birthmark on his shoulder–it was the one mark that remained on his skin at all. It had to be him, but then how was any of this even possible?

“Boy–I think we should change positions, for a bit, you’re giving me a cramp. Be a good boy and bend over the table–look that husband of yours in the eye, while you push back on my cock.”

“Yes daddy,” Samuel moaned, and without even dismounting, he twisted himself around the shaft, facing Jeremy now, and slid down so he was standing on the ground–the massive member remaining deep inside him the entire time. Mr. Bishop leaned back a bit, legs wide, and two waiters pushed his chair a bit closer to the table, allowing Samuel to thrust his hips back and fuck himself while leaning over the table. Jeremy could see both of them now, his husband’s eyes staring at him–they were so…cold, and uninterested in him–and Mr. Bishop, smiling at him around that cigar of his.

“Are you enjoying yourself, Jeremy?”

“Fuck you–what the fuck did you do to him?”

“Oh, the salon here is capable of the most fabulous makeovers. You can be anyone you’d like, provided you can afford it, like me.”

“This is fucked. You can’t fucking do this to people! We aren’t your fucking slaves, you sick fuck.”

Mr. Bishop just laughed. “You, Jeremy, work in finance. Hedge funds. Your husband works as a corporate lawyer. Just who, exactly, do you think you serve every day already?” Mr. Bishop waited a beat. “Me. Men like me. You make me money. You could very well have made me the money I’m paying to control you right now. Besides, it’s not like you won’t be duly compensated for your…services.” He took a long drag off his cigar, and when Jeremy said nothing, he continued. “I’m honestly surprised you care so much for him, the way you so casually fucked off with that whore the other day, and all those other days. Poor Sammy here didn’t have much choice but to numb himself, to just stop caring about you. It was easy, after your last rebuff. He has more important things to worry about now anyway, don’t you boy?”

“Yeah daddy, like your big cock!”

“Yes, just like that–pretty much only that, in fact.”

“I don’t know how you know any of that shit,” Jeremy said, “But–so what, this is just some fucking game to you? You get to just fuck with our lives for fun, because you’re rich and you can?”

Mr. Bishop leaned forward a bit, and spoke in Sammy’s ear, “He caught on quicker than you–he really is the more cynical one. Fuck a little faster boy, I’m getting close.” he leaned back, and kept smoking, while Sammy picked up the pace, sweat pouring from his smooth skin. “Yes. Because I can. And because the two of you were going to be miserable anyway. And because you’d be divorced within the year. And because if someone is going to ruin your relationship, I might as well be the one to do it, since I’ll actually enjoy watching the two of you fall apart. Or who knows, maybe a change of pace will give the two of you a better appreciation for one another. Oh fuck boy, that’s it–here it comes. Daddy’s gonna fill up that boyhole nice and full.”

“Oh fuck daddy, yes! Fill me up nice and full!”

With a smoky groan, Mr. Bishop’s balls began pumping a massive amount of cum into Sammy’s guts, and the young man’s eyes rolled back in his head, his body shivering–after all, his daddy’s orgasms was ten times more powerful for him than one of his own. Mr. Bishop looked out at the table, and shook his head. “Oh Jeremy, you didn’t eat any of your meal. You must be starving.”

“I couldn’t very well eat without being able to look at the plate,” he spat back.

“Well, I suppose you’ll just have to eat something else then–something…more suited to your palate. Boy, please feed your husband all of that cum in your ass. After all, that’s now your favorite food in the world, right Jeremy? Other men’s cum felched from the dirty ass of your slutty husband? I’m sure you can remember all of the many times you’ve eaten it now.”

Jeremy felt like his mind was twisted out of shape, but a moment later, everything was clear–especially all of his new memories of sucking cum from Samuel’s ass. He knew that they weren’t real, that they hadn’t actually happened, right? Or…or had they? In either case, as Sammy moved around the table, he quickly got down on his knees behind him, pressed his tongue to his husband’s crater like hole, and started lapping up the cum dribbling helplessly from it, quaking with pleasure and hunger. The load was massive, but he ate all of it while Mr. Bishop watched, humiliated and yet…so satisfied in other ways.

“Alright–Sammy, a friend of mine wanted to use you for an evening. I told him he would have to wait a day or two, but he should be happy to take you tonight only. He’s in suite 23. You’ll obey him like you would me, but return to our suite at midnight, understand? If he turns you down, then I want you to find as many men to fuck you as possible before midnight, and then return home.”

Sammy nodded, “But what are you doing, daddy?”

“Oh, your husband and I have an appointment in the Salon this evening. Don’t worry, I’ll be there tonight when you get back.”

Sammy nodded, gave his daddy a kiss, pulled on his skimpy bathing suit and ran off, leaving Jeremy alone with Mr. Bishop. “You’re a fucking sicko,” he said.

Mr. Bishop just laughed, and led the newest part of his VIP package to the Salon, for a makeover of his own.

VIP Package (Part 4)

The next morning, Jeremy woke up, and wasn’t quite sure what to make of what had happened the night before. Most of the details had been lost in the drunken blur, but he was certain it had been Samuel waiting for him in the room, and yet…it hadn’t seemed like Samuel. He certainly hadn’t behaved like Samuel, or even looked much like him. For a bit, he tried to convince himself that it hadn’t actually been him at all, but then how could he explain the birthmark, or how he’d gotten into the room, or how he’d even known who Jeremy was? Still, he’d seemed…out of his mind, first trying to jump his bone, and then he’d just up and left. Where in the world had he even gone? After his hangover subsided, he searched the ship, high and low, but quickly discovered just how much of the ship was, in fact, off limits to him.

The boundaries were as invisible as they were strict; he would be heading down an unmarked corridor, when a member of the staff would appear–seemingly out of nowhere–and escort him back to the main concourse, with a gentle, pleasant reminder not to be too much of an explorer. He found himself growing a bit obsessed with the ship’s VIP passengers, but as hard as he sought them out, he was unable to even find one to talk to. They all seemed to be cloistered within their own section of ship, none of them bothering to mingle with the rest of them. They had a separate dining room, separate floors, separate rooms, separate casinos…he again accosted the help desk, and was rebuffed even faster than before. Samuel was safe, and when the cruise ended, he would be returned–they spoke of him with the same care they would discuss a piece of lost luggage.

Samuel ended up back in the room that evening, hoping that Samuel would come back–but he didn’t. This was, somehow, even worse. Could things have been different if he hadn’t gotten so drunk the night before, and maybe managed to fuck his husband? Would things be different if he hadn’t fucked everything else up already? Why was he even blaming himself? This was fucking Samuel’s fault, running off with some fucking rich fuck behind his back! But in the room…he hadn’t seemed happy. He’d seemed terrified and desperate. Jeremy didn’t know how to process any of this; he’d never been good with relationships and feelings. Around midnight, he went out and got drunk again, and then continued his bender early the next morning after work, not planning on stopping until the cruise was over, or Samuel showed up with an explanation.

The staff cut him off around three in the afternoon, after he got into a one sided screaming match with another guest he’d stumbled into by the pool bar, and the staff insisted that he get something to eat. Two men escorted him to a dining room, Jeremy protesting and raving. They were entering the dining room–a massive, three story tiered room, and he looked up, and there, on the third floor overhead, next to the railing, he saw him. It was Samuel, sitting at a small table across from some old fat fuck, laughing his fucking head off, and all Jeremy felt was rage. He threw off the two hulks helping him walk, and staggered over to the nearest stairway, ignoring the “VIPs and Guests Only” sign, and got up a floor. The staff above was already waiting to intercept him, but he just started screaming out Samuel’s name, but his husband didn’t even notice…until he tried the name ‘Sammy’. At that, his husband’s head turned in curiosity, saw him, his eyes rolled, and he turned back to the old man across from him, who had been watching Jeremy’s entrance with a smirk. Cursing and punching, the staff dragged Jeremy back downstairs, where he supposedly belonged, and deposited him at a table–but if he hadn’t felt like eating before, now the thought of food did nothing for him at all.

The waiters brought him platters, he asked for booze, and was turned down. He tried to steal a bottle of wine from a table near him, and was intercepted before he could even stand up, like the fucks knew what he was thinking. He felt trapped in a massive room, convinced that he could hear his husband’s unusually high laughter drifting down from above, and he was certain it was over. His marriage was over, his life was over–and then a member of the staff approached him, and said that a VIP guest had requested that Jeremy be added to his package.

He listened, numbly, as the man gave him the same limited explanation that had been given to Samuel at the pool, and he had only one question for the man, when he’d finished the offer. “If I agree to this, I can go upstairs?”

“Guests who have been added to VIP packages are granted access to VIP exclusive areas and events provided their VIP has given them permission to be there. This is covered in more detail in our terms of service, which again, I am required to strongly suggest you read before providing your affirmative consent.”

“I don’t want to read it, I agree.”

The staff member smiled, and presented a small screen to Jeremy–he pressed his thumb to it, but barely felt the shock race through him, as drunk as he was. It froze him in place all the same, and the man inserted his VIP control chip at the top of his spine. “Thank you for helping us provide our VIP members with exceptional fantasy experiences. Please follow me, and I will take you to your VIP, where he will assume control of you for as long as you remain a part of his VIP package.”

Jeremy had a difficult time understanding what the man was talking about, and he’d already stood up and followed him for several paces before he even realized he was walking. He wasn’t stumbling like he had been, either–as drunk as he was, his pace was perfectly even–nearly robotic, in some way. The anger in his gut began to melt into fear–is this what Samuel had gotten himself into? At the top of the stairs, the waiter let him directly to the table where his husband was sitting with the older man, or rather…on the old man. Samuel was straddling him, naked, the man’s massive cock buried in his hole with Samuel moaning in pleasure, gripping his daddy’s rolls of fat tight.

Mr. Bishop turned to Jeremy and smiled. “Hello there, Jeremy. I wasn’t planning on inviting you to join us for another day or two, but since you’ve proven to be rather…nosy, I figured, why not move on? My boy was getting a bit boring, all by himself, anyway. Do have a seat. We’ve already eaten, but I’m sure the waiters can find something for you.”

VIP Package (Part 3)

“I still don’t understand what the fuck that fucking means!” Jeremy screamed at the buff young man behind the desk, who simply maintained the same plastic smile all of the fucking men on staff had, and nodded along.

“Yes sir, you’ve said that several times. I can assure you that your husband is safe, and will be returned at the end of the cruise, or earlier, if our VIP guest chooses to remove him from his package prior to arrival back in Florida.”

“Who the hell is he fucking that’s so fucking important he can’t spend his vacation with me?”

“I can’t disclose any information about our VIPs, sir.”

So what, he just fucking disappears on a fucking a boat, with some fucking stranger?”

“He’s providing a vital service for the cruise line, and will be handsomely compensated at the end of the voyage.”

“Oh, and now you’re telling me he’s a whore, too?”

The man behind the desk thought a moment, grinned, and then nodded, “Perhaps, in a sense, if that helps you understand. But that’s still not quite precise enough. However, I cannot clarify further, because I cannot disclose the nature of our VIP packages to visitors in the midst of their fantasy voyage.”

“Some fucking fantasy.”

“Would fucking a member of our staff help, sir? I can offer you someone on the house, if you’d like.”

“I’m going to call the fucking cops when I get off this fucking boat, that’s what I’m going to do.”

“Our company has filed and been granted a special waiver, and at sea, our vessels are classified as sovereign nations. Even if you told the police, they would have no jurisdiction. That said, further threats against our ship can be considered an act of war, so I would encourage you to leave, and not press the issue further.”

The man’s eyes, had turned stony, and the grin, while pleasant, was…also menacing. If it was a bluff, it was crazy enough to sound possible. Samuel was the lawyer–all Jeremy knew how to do was ride the markets for hedge funds. Still, it was clear that this muscle fuck wasn’t going to give him any answers, so he did leave the cruise ship complaint office, frustrated, but also terrified and confused. The last he’d seen Samuel, he’d been napping at the pool, while he’d gone off for a quick fuck with a cute guy next to them. Well…quick had turned into a couple of hours, but Jeremy hadn’t figured Samuel would mind. They…hadn’t exactly been getting along well, and this cruise probably wasn’t helping much. Samuel was just…so easy going about all of this shit, and all Jeremy wanted was for him to fight for him, to show him that he was wanted. He didn’t want to keep pulling away, but the more distant he got, the less Samuel seemed to even care. Here’s where it had gotten him: alone on a massive ship, his husband keeping some rich fuck company as…as something similar to a whore, and he had no fucking clue about any of it. So he did what he’d always done when things went south–he got shitfaced at the nearest bar.

He was, at first, only going to do a shot or two to steady his nerves. Then, he just needed a couple more before that bear a stool or two over looked a little more handsome. Then, after slurring and flubbing his pickup line and getting firmly rejected, he decided to call it a night. He stumbled back to his room, managed to get the key in the door, and he hoped against everything that Samuel would be in there, ready to clean up another mess, and he’d just…demand they talk about this, about everything. He’d apologize for everything, ask for everything to be right again, to make this work. But there wasn’t going to be anyone in there–he was gone, probably for good, now. He managed to get the key in the door, and nearly fell through it when it opened, and when he looked up, sitting on the edge of the bed…it was Samuel, or at least, he thought it was. It was hard to tell, when the world didn’t seem to want to stop twirling.

“Jeremy? Jeremy! Oh god, oh fuck, I didn’t think I’d see you again, but I begged daddy, and…and I had to do such dirty things, but he said I could see you baby, he said I could be with you.”

“S-Samuel? Is that you?”

The man looked a bit taken aback. “You fucking–that’s not my name! My name is Sammy! What the fuck is wrong with you?” He shook his head, “I’m…I’m sorry, he’s still in my fucking head, but it’s ok. Just…don’t call me that, I don’t want to be called that anymore.”

Jeremy focused, trying to clear his head, leaning against the wall beside the door. When he opened his eyes, the swirling had eased up, and he could see…Sammy there, on the bed. It…was his husband, he could see that, but he wasn’t quite the man he remembered. No, Samuel had been buff, and greying, and…a fucking hot top, when he was in the right mood, but the man in front of him…no, it couldn’t be him. For one thing, he was fucking fat–probably 350 pounds at least, with no real definition, just flab, and all of it perfectly smooth. His face was smooth, and looked so young, the rest of his skin without a fucking blemish at all…aside from a prominent birthmark on his right shoulder, which Jeremy knew intimately. He couldn’t process this, what in the world was even happening. “I…I must be hallucinating, you look like a fat fucking…boy, or something.”

“Oh…Oh fuck…” Sammy groaned, “Oh fuck, say…say it again.”

“What?”

“Come on Jeremy, you know, call me what I fucking am.”

“What, a…fat fucking boy?”

“Fuck…fuck me daddy, fuck!” Sammy got up from the bed, grabbed Jeremy, and shoved him towards the bed, where he landed, and Sammy climbed on him, tearing his clothes off, finding his cock. “It…seems so small…but I don’t care. Daddy said you wouldn’t be enough for me, but I don’t care! I don’t…I mean…” Jeremy was trying to protest, trying to get a handle on what was happening, as Sammy stroked his cock, but he was both too turned off–and too drunk–to get hard. “Fuck…Fuck you! You fucking…you’re fucking worthless, he was fucking right! You…you can’t give me what a boy like me needs, fuck, I…I need a, I need my daddy!” Sammy shouted, and fled the room, leaving Jeremy befuddled on the bed, and he passed out not long after that.

True Happiness (2 of 2)

That first night together, Kyle–or rather, Ky, as he soon demanded everyone call him–learned what he’d really needed all along to be happy. He needed a daddy. Someone to hold him close, someone to fuck his tight, fat hole. Someone to change his diapers and treat him like the little baby he’d always wanted to be.

When he’d returned home, reeling from the night’s revelations, he hadn’t known what to think. One part of him kept insisting that it hadn’t been him, that he hadn’t wanted to do those things, that Robin had…been controlling him somehow. But if that was the case? Why couldn’t he stop sucking his thumb? Every time his attention lapsed, it would go right back into his mouth, and he’d suck it like…like he’d sucked daddy’s cock the night before. He was hard again, and trying to jack off, but it didn’t feel right. It didn’t feel right not being in a diaper, not having his…his daddy looming over him, helping him, telling him what a good boy he was. He soaked a pair of shorts in his piss again, and while it made him incredibly horny, he still couldn’t cum, no matter how hard he tried.

Robin called him that evening, to check in on his little boy, and hearing his daddy’s voice was enough to trigger the load which had been building all day long. He didn’t even touch himself–as soon as he heard those words, cum just spilled out into the front of his pants, mixing with the cold piss, and he realized he hadn’t even changed from his experiment earlier. He knew he should feel ashamed of himself, but he just felt so…happy. Joyous even. He chatted with his daddy, not noticing how he slipped into childish language after a few minutes, and he sent a car to bring Robin to his home, along with an overnight bag–but Robin never did leave.

Robin couldn’t leave–Ky needed him. After a week, Ky had lost all control of his bladder and bowels, forcing him into diapers all day, every day. But he was so happy. After a month, he transferred most of his wealth to his daddy, but that too, made him extremely happy. Six months later, he barely even left the house anymore–he stayed home in his room, looking quite different than earlier that year. Daddy had shaved off that hair and ugly beard, leaving his face clean as a baby’s bottom. The tattoos were for fun–and for Ky’s other role as a masked, kinky sub Robin would drag around to the city’s bathhouses when his baby had been extra naughty. But Ky was happy, at last–at last.

Source: littlebabbyhammer

True Happiness (1 of 2)

“So wait–this is your limo? You didn’t just rent this for our date?”

“My own personal limo. You want some champagne? I always have some ready.”

“This is…I have to say, this is probably the strangest first date I’ve ever been on,” Kyle said, leaning forward to take the flute from Robin after he’d poured it. The two of them had gotten to chatting online, and struck up a bit of a fledgling relationship, and while Robin had dropped hints at his wealth, the sheer scope of his date’s extravagance was…surprising to say the least. Robin took a sip of the champagne, looking rather embarrassed. “I’m not quite sure what you see in an old bear like me.”

Robin was in his 50’s, Kyle in his late 30’s, and had amassed enough wealth to essentially retire. “What can I say? I like old bears. It’s hard to explain why…” Kyle was a bit on the chubby side, with a scruffy beard, button down shirt and khaki shorts. He looked like he’d learned wealth gave him excuse to look however he damn well pleased. In fact, Robin was the first time he’d ever dated someone older than him–he’d always been one for twinks, but something about the fellow just…seemed so endearing.

“It’s a shame you aren’t happy, though.” Robin said, meeting Kyle’s eyes. The bluntness of the statement obviously caught Kyle off guard, but when he tried to look away, he found he couldn’t break eye contact with the older fellow, seated across from him. “I can tell, you’re rather…miserable.”

“I’m not miserable,” Kyle said, but he was as surprised by the doubt in his voice, as Robin wasn’t.

“It’s hard to admit, I know. Wealth can be such a burden. So afraid to let anyone see the real you.” Robin moved from sitting across from Kyle to sitting beside him, pressing him up against the side of the limo with his own sizable frame. Kyle could…sense something strange was going on, but knew too little to resist. “It’s ok, Ky,” Robin said, “You can let go–just relax. Daddy’s here.”

Kyle wasn’t sure what he meant, but his body reacted it too ways. First, his thumb slid itself into his mouth, and he started sucking it, and second, he felt a warmth in his pants, as his bladder released, soaking the front and rear of his pants, and the seat of the limo with warm piss.

“That’s a good boy. Now tell your driver we’re skipping dinner. How about we go to my place?”

Asslickers Inc. (Part 4)

The hoist was groaning from the additional weight, but it was holding, lowering Jules slowly back down onto the bed. “Please, I’m fucking serious! I didn’t know I could be this fucking hungry.”

“I know how hungry you are, Jules, but you’re going to have to be patient.”

“I don’t want to be patient, I want to fucking eat!”

Ari didn’t reply, just focused on settling the sheet back down onto the bed, Jules now massively flabby frame inside of it, and unfolded it back over the bed, giving him a better look at the daddy’s huge frame now that he was off the scale. Bent over as he was, it was difficult to see the full scope, but he noticed a telltale twitch of an arm–the relaxer was wearing off. He went over to the wall and brought back a clear buttplug and pushed it into Jules hole, letting its effect take hold, Jules’ eyes glazing over slightly. “Alright Jules–you’ll be able to move soon, so we’re going to go to the kitchen, have something to eat, and conduct a bit of business. You won’t think of running. You won’t look for help. You want to be here, and you want to do everything I tell you to do. Do you understand?”

Jules nodded and muttered a distant yes. Ari kept the plug in until it had fully dissolved, to make sure his directions had sunk in, and then pulled out the stick and set it aside, before helping Jules get used to his new body, as it came back alive. The Mindplug worked for about four hours–more than enough time. Jules was incredibly impatient, but the relaxer didn’t give him back full use of his legs for another half hour–and Ari broke down and brought him a bag of chips for a snack, which Jules inhaled in a minute or less, immediately demanding more. Still, they got him upright on his wide feet and cankles, Jules staring down at his massive, furry body, running his hands over it…and wondering why this wasn’t freaking him out as much as it should be. Sure…he liked being fat, but…but this was so fucked up, right? Then why did he just…keep doing everything Ari told him to do?

He waddled his way back to the kitchen, where Ari set out a large spread of snacks, which Jules found himself helpless against. He tried to control himself, tried to tell himself that he’d worked hard at the gym all his life to keep from becoming like this–but as soon as he’d thought that…he realized that he couldn’t actually remember ever being in a gym once in his life. No, what he was recalling now, were years spent stuffing his face at buffets, in front of the TV, growing bigger, and bigger, and bigger… “We…we met at the gym, right?”

Ari nodded, “You’re probably wondering why your memory seems all messed up?”

Jules nodded.

“The asslickers can warp your brain too. Once it settles into it’s new format–you won’t even believe you were ever in a gym. Your head will invent some other place where we met, which makes more sense–like a buffet or something.”

“You mean…fuck–this shit fucked me up.”

“Yeah, but you do love it, don’t you?” Ari said, jiggling Jules’ side rolls, making him giggle and groan, his cock hardening.

“Fuck, do that again…”

“I’ll do more than that, but you have to do something for me first.”

Ari got his computer, and directed Jules to compile a massive list of information about his financial assets–all of his stocks and bonds, his accounts, his retirement. He also had to list all of his personal information. He wasn’t exactly sure why he was doing it…but Ari had told him to, so he did it. When he was finished, Ari sent the documents off to someone by email, and then told Jules what he was getting. “You want my cock in that big ass of yours, right pig? Get back in that bedroom, and I’m going to plow you better than any asslicker ever could.”

With an excited nod, Jules heaved himself up from the table and walked back into the bedroom, his massive frame already feeling natural to him, his body adjusting naturally as his brain caught up to what it already knew–that he was a chub, that he was a gainer and had been all his life, that if he didn’t pass 600 pounds by the end of the year, he’d feel like a complete failure. He got back on the bed, and Ari put on a thick condom–even covering his balls–before fucking Jules deep and long. After all, he had no interest in getting any remaining residue from his projects on any sensitive areas. When he finally came–Jules tried to get up, but discovered that he couldn’t move. Beyond that–he also noticed that his head was starting to clear, after that strange plug Ari had used on him. Had he really just given Ari information about all of his money? Why in the fuck had he done that?

“You know, for a big shot executive like you describe yourself on your website, I thought you would have been worth a bit more than all that. Still, thanks for the seed money, I can promise it’ll be put to good use.”

“No–no, this is fucking robbery! I wasn’t in my right mind!”

“Oh, trust me, my lawyers–well, Arctos’ layers–will sort all of that out. They’ve been very efficient with my previous test subjects.”

“Wait–you looked at my website?”

“Well of course–I’ve been tracking you for a while. No partner, small social circle, work obsessed, no one will be surprised to hear you cracked. Everyone will think you pulled a sudden retirement after a nervous breakdown, letting you spend your wealth in some beautiful tropical country. I mean, not really–but at least they’ll be happy for you. I mean, you won’t actually be at a resort of course,” he said with a laugh, “No, I don’t think you’ll be heading to any resort any time soon.”

There’s a new party drug on the streets, produced by some strange company called Arctos, and it’s a doozy, as Avery found out, when he went out to a club on Saturday night with a couple of his friends. He noticed the two skinheads–not the usual clientelle of the bar’s he frequented as a college student–but he didn’t pay them any mind, until around his third drink–which he’d accidentally left at the table unattended for a few minutes. He began to feel a bit like he was floating, and before he could get help from his friends, the two skinheads had cornered him, and rather easily convinced him to go home with them instead.

This decision confused him, but he found himself unable to say no to either of their demands. They got back to their slummy apartment a few blocks from the bar, and they immediately made Avery strip…and he didn’t remember much after that, to be honest. But when he woke up, Avery wasn’t quite Avery anymore. In fact, he wasn’t quite sure who he was. His two mates in the apartment–Len and Jack–told him he was part of their crew…but that didn’t quite feel right somehow. He thought he was going to school or something, but his mates just laughed at him–Aver was too dull to ever think of going to college after all. Then they hauled out their cocks and fucked him at both ends…and Aver figured his mates were probably right.

His mates kept him drugged regularly–the entire personality usually reverts after a day or two, but with repeated doses, the person loses more and more sense of themselves, and eventually they lose their old self entirely. Poor Aver–he’s been with his mates for a year now, but he’s been dosed so many times, he barely has a mind left. He’s just their skinhead pup slave now–and will be forever. So mind your drinks–this is one drink you don’t want to have end up in your glass.

Source: gayskinfun

Medical Trials (Part 4)

~~~A Few Months Later~~~

Evan pushed the janitorial cart down the hall, and into the last cell on the hallway. The room was filthy, but he knew better than to ask questions about what might have happened in there–he could smell some cum, shit and piss, but there was more blood than anything else. He stripped the bed and shoved the still damp, but cool sheets into the laundry bag, and then started cleaning up the walls.

He’d been working in the Trinq labs as a janitor for…for as long as he could remember, which wasn’t really that long. He wasn’t exactly smart, and most everything failed to keep his interest, unless it had to do with his job, cum, or his boyfriend. He wiped down the mirror, looking at his face with disinterest. It still wasn’t quite…familiar to him, but that didn’t really matter. It was his face. How he felt about the face wasn’t important. How he felt wasn’t important. Feelings weren’t really…possible anymore anyway; all he ever really felt was calm detachment. It didn’t matter how he felt, all that mattered was that he did what he was told. He looked at himself anyway, through the red streaks. His head was perfectly smooth, just like the rest of his body. His hair had all fallen out–even his eyebrows–and none of it had grown back, not even months after his final injection. No longer strong and angular, his face was round and soft, cheeks puffed out and drooping, chins and jowls like pliable wax, eyes distant.

The rest of his body was similar. He’d shrunk substantially in the final round of tests, dropping from six foot three down to about five feet tall, even as he’d packed on fat. His weight had stabilized at 325 pounds, now that he was no longer receiving injections, but it hung off him in flaps and rolls, his grimy coveralls, grey with the Trinq logo on the breast, bulging and heaving with each movement. His balls were gone. They’d shrunk smaller and smaller until they simply ceased to exist, and his cock was less than an inch long, and completely numb to all sensation. He no longer felt like a man, really. He felt like something else entirely–genderless, perhaps, but not a woman either. Just a drone, or an object. Something unimportant. Something that existed to be used, like a tool.

He cleaned the room, hoping there might be a bit of cum he could eat, but while he could smell it, the blood was everywhere, leaving him disappointed and hungry. The room was clean in a few hours, and he checked his watch–his shift had ended fifteen minutes ago, so he wheeled the cart back to the janitorial area, threw the bloody sheets down the chute to the incinerator, got out of his jumpsuit and burned that as well, and back into his street clothes, before clocking out.

He left Trinq’s building, and walked to the bus stop. He’d grown used to the stares by now–everyone he passed could tell there was something wrong with him, that he wasn’t supposed to exist, that he didn’t fit into their usual categories. More than once, he’d been cornered by men and pummelled in alleys on the way home, but he didn’t mind that much. The longer men were around him, after all, the more likely they would feed him their cum. That was something he’d learned rather quickly–that something about him, either how he looked, or how he smelled, made men want to use him as a cumdump. He could imagine that might make a normal person feel humiliated, but Evan just felt something resembling gratitude. He liked being something that had a purpose–he liked being used.

There was no incident like that this evening, though he sat next to an older business man on the bus, and after a few minutes, the man pulled out his cock, and ordered Evan to suck it–he was happy to have a snack, at least. He got off at his stop, and walked the few blocks to where he lived with his boyfriend, Adam. But Adam wasn’t really a boyfriend, in the same way Evan wasn’t really a man any longer.

Adam worked as a police detective–in particular, he’d taken over the caseload of a certain Evan Timmons, who’d committed suicide earlier that year. He didn’t really work for the police, however. Or rather, he worked for the police, but he also worked for Trinq Inc.–burying cases, funnelling prisoners and inconvenient witnesses into experimental drug programs, destroying evidence. In return, Adam had been receiving samples of several new drug therapies from the company. He was already home when Evan arrived–he could smell him in the second bedroom of the apartment, which was where Evan slept in a cage, and where Adam worked out. Evan stripped out of his clothes and went and found his master, smelling him, hungry for his cum. Adam was naked as well, his extremely hirsute body matted with sweat, foot long cock half hard and leaking on the floor. Evan got down and began cleaning up–sweat, cum, piss, anything his master left behind as he continued his workout, not paying any attention to the thing following him around the room. Adam might have felt a twinge of guilt, at one point, but power and strength was more important to him now. In truth, Evan disgusted him, but also terrified him. Trinq’s executives had made it perfectly clear to him who Evan actually was–and that if Adam ever betrayed them, that he would suffer an even worse fate at their hands than the blob Officer Timmon’s had become. Trinq wasn’t about to let anyone stand in their way of power either, after all. They were going to change the world, whether people wanted them to, or not.

Master Fitzroy’s Stables (Part 4)

A commissioner requested an additional chapter to this story from earlier this year. Here’s where you can find part’s one, two, and three. Also, this chapter’s a bit out there–animal hybrids, and castration.

“I’m very disappointed, Mr. Grant. I’ve made you a very comfortable home here, you know. To have my generosity thrown back at me in my face, well…what do they say about the hand that feeds you?”

“Fuck you, you fucking piece of shit!”

“Now, I don’t know quite how you managed to untwist your way out of my programming, but I am still the master of this house, and you will still treat me with the respect I require.”

“I’m not treating you for shit! You fucked me up! I’m some old fucking man, and that…that thing fucks me fucking twice a day! No, I’m going to get out of here, and I’m going to expose you, and you’re going to fucking jail.”

“Do you honestly believe that you’re the first one of my staff to have gotten their wits about and run off to your holy ‘authorities’? Please, I have an excellent relationship with the entire local government. I can assure you. even if you had gotten away without being caught, your feat would have amounted to nothing.”

“…”

“Silence? Fine. Still, we will have to punish you, I can assure you.”

“Edufuck me all you fucking want, I’ll just beat it again.”

“Oh, edification will be necessary, yes, but I think this situation calls for more…extreme measures. No, good night, Mr. Grant. I’ll see you in a few days.”

Mr. Grant smelled manure. It was a scent he’d grown accustomed to over the last few months, since when he first displeased the Master of Fitzroy Abbey, but not one he’d ever learned to enjoy. No, he hated it more with each day. But now, waking up slowly, it…comforted him. It smelled like home, somehow.

He was lying on straw, but why was he sleeping in the stable? Had he passed out? Slipped away for a nap? Master would be very unhappy with either possibility, and he didn’t want to upset master, no, not that–

He shook his head, trying to clear it, but it felt so…thick, all of a sudden. It wasn’t like Mr. Grant had ever been the smartest person, but before he’d been able to manage. Now, it felt like his thoughts were running through molasses. Had…had something happened to him again? He could remember a conversation, dimly. Master had been angry. He’d been angry too, but also…terrified. But what he’d done, he couldn’t recall at all. He opened his eyes, and where he was propped against the side of the stable, he had a clear view of his body, and that was what caused the scream which echoed across the grounds of the entire Abbey gardens.

His legs, what the fuck had happened to his legs! The terror cut through the static clogging his mind, and he ran his old hands over the furry flanks his ass and thighs had become, then down further, to his knee, the slender leg ending in a thick, solid brown hoof. He felt the whole thing with his hands, unable to believe it, but it was him, his body. The static was returning, and as it did, some of his shock and surprise faded as well. Had things been different? He couldn’t actually remember being different, so it was possible he’d always been this way, right? The one thing he definitely appreciated was his cock, the sheath running from the base of his heavy balls all the way up his slightly elongated torso, where the head of his cock began to emerge. He forced himself upright, finding it relatively easy to balance on the wide hooves, and with his hands, felt the shaft. He had to piss–and as soon as he’d thought it, the urine poured out of him in a torrent with no control at all–he barely managed to aim it at a corner, away from the straw where he’d been laying. The scent was strong, but not at all unpleasant, similar to the manure. He…liked it here actually…but didn’t he have work to do? Hadn’t he been…trying to get somewhere? The thoughts didn’t seem to connect up to anything, but he pushed open the door to the stable, and walked out, smelling the air. Something…else was in his nose, something…wonderful. Chopper. Chopper, he definitely knew, his new horse tail flicking at the thought, ass clenching.

Whistling a little tune, he took off, following the scent of his favorite horse. He smelled something else, but realized what–or rather, who–it was, too late. Master was waiting for him as well, with two burly servants of the house.

“Ah, Mr. Grant. I trust you’ve found your new accommodations acceptable? You’ll be staying here with the horses from now on, considering you’re mostly horse yourself now. You’re usual duties will be the same, though with that new brain of yours, I doubt you’ll have much time to think of escaping again. Still, there is one last thing I’d like to take care of. I did so love that tiny cock of yours, but gene manipulation…we can’t always have everything we want. Still, I think having you as a gelding will work out fine–calm you down a bit, make you more…pliable.”

The two men tackled Mr. Grant to the grubby floor of the stable, holding him down, allowing the master of the abbey to first, bind his huge balls with a series of bands, and once they’d turned a deep, blackish blue, to cut open the sack and extract both of his testicles, before sewing up the incision. Mr. Grant just stared, dumbfounded, but once they were gone he…felt better. Calmer. The panic in him died back a bit, and he got a stupid grin on his face. He was all too happy to let Chopper fuck his new hole–a wonderful new experience, since his wider frame could better take the huge shaft, and from them on, Mr. Grant settled into his new life, that of a grubby stable man gelding–and always ready for any of the stallions to mount him, if need be.

Perfect Girlfriend (Part 1)

“I’m not kidding guys. She’s, like, the perfect girlfriend,” Andy said, talking with his two friends, Sam and Owen in the breakroom. He’d just finished his shift, and was getting ready to go home for the day, but couldn’t resist the opportunity to keep bragging about Kendra, his girlfriend of six months. They’d moved in together last week, and so far, it had, apparently, been bliss. “She’s so fucking horny, you wouldn’t believe it, needs me, like, four times a damn day. How am I supposed to keep up with that?”

Sam and Owen rolled their eyes–they were both tired of hearing about Kendra–it seemed like the only thing Andy was interested in talking about, and it had only gotten worse over the last few months. Andy had used to be a pretty fun guy, hanging out, playing video games, but ever since he’d started dating her, the guys had seen less and less of him, and he’d started changing in odd ways as well. He’d packed on at least 25 pounds, going from a wiry fairly normal 200 to a husky 230, with no sign of stopping–but he did love her cooking, he said, over and over again. All of this, and neither Sam nor Owen had ever even seen her, much less met her. They’d both suspected she was fictional, but even they’d never heard of someone going so far as to “move in” with a fictional girlfriend. Needless to say, neither of them replied to Andy’s news of sexual conquest–it didn’t matter if they said anything or not; he’d keep going regardless.

“Anyway, she said she’s making meatloaf tonight, so I’d better get home quick, right?” Andy laughed at himself, “See you two tomorrow!”

“Yeah, man.”

“Later.”

Andy loved these days when he could get off early, around three. He got in his car and drove home to his apartment, fifteen minutes or so from work, thinking about Kendra. How as soon as he opened the door, she’d be there, ready for him to ravish her, and then she’d cook him dinner. Fuck! This was the damn life, right?

He pulled into his parking spot outside the complex, got out of his car, and couldn’t help but notice his hands were clenched into fists he couldn’t quite get loose, his guts roiling, body shaking slightly. Damn, what was up with him all of a sudden? Probably just hungry, or maybe that sushi he ate for lunch, who knows? He walked up the flight of stairs to his apartment, fingers fumbling with his keys, and he couldn’t quite get it into the lock, like his hand kept missing it somehow. Still, he needed to get in and see Kendra, he was so damn excited! On the third try, the key slipped in and turned. He stepped inside and shut the door behind him.

“There’s my handsome boyfriend,” Ken said, sitting in the recliner in front of the TV, the same place Ken always was when Andy got home, when he remembered. He grabbed the door handle, trying to twist it, but he already knew he wouldn’t be able to get it open–he could always get in, but he’d never once been able to get out without Ken’s permission.

Ken. Andy had moved into the apartment across from him a year ago, and he’d just assumed his neighbor was an old weirdo, and a bit of a pervert, from the way he kept looking at him when they passed on the stairs. He was dirty, with long hair and a big beard, teeth rotting, clothes reeking with cum and smoke and who knew what else. He…didn’t know when he’d been ensnared, but he’d dated Kendra without knowing her real identity for a month, before Ken revealed himself one night, before raping Andy’s hole. He’s been trapped in this nightmare ever since–outside, he’s dating his beautiful, perfect girlfriend Kendra. Inside, he’s little more than Ken’s mindfucked slave.

“Come on over here son,” Ken said, “Daddy’s been edging for hours, waiting for you to get home.”

Oh fuck yeah, Andy thought, stripping off his work clothes as fast as he could, hurrying to his dad’s side. Fuck, he loved his dad so damn much, he’d do anything for him. He immediately climbed on top of his dad, grinding their bellies together, waiting for Ken to pull his cigar out before giving him a long, wet, sloppy kiss, sucking the smoke from his mouth as he exhaled, before kissing him again, slipping down lower, feeling his dad’s thick, hard cock slipping up and down his crack, catching slightly on his boyhole. God, he wanted daddy inside him, it was the only time he felt alive, serving the cock that made him. Another few tries, and the head slipped in, followed by the rest of his shaft, Daddy holding his son tight, the boy letting him slide in and out, slow, moaning and sighing and whimpering.

“I love you son, do you love me?”

“Oh god daddy, I love you so much!” Andy cried, “Oh fuck daddy, fuck me!”

“Could never fucking help yourself, you know. I remember the first day you came into my room, begging me for my cock like a little whore. Telling me how you’d seen guys fucking on the damn internet, wanted your old dad here to show you what it felt like to have a cock in your ass…”

Andy didn’t remember that, really, but he’d probably just forgotten that. His dad would never make something like that up. It did sound like something he’d say anyway–Daddy was always talking about how much of a nasty, desperate slut his son was.

“Finally getting some meat on those bones, turning into a damn hot fuck.”

“Thanks daddy.”

“But you want to be bigger, I bet–think you’re hot now, just wait till you finally top 300, you fucking pig.”

Andy’s eyes glazed over, mouth going slack, and he gave a great, long snort, bucking his hips faster, grunting in time with Ken’s thrusts, mouth exploring his master’s body, lciking and sucking at his sweat and musk.

“Nasty, disgusting, filthy piggy. Gonna stuff yourself today. Stuff yourself, and you won’t be able to fucking stop, hell no.”

The hunger was back, oh fucking god, he was so hungry! He slurped and licked at his master’s neck before biting down on his shoulder, slobbering, gut kneading itself into knots, master closer to cuming now, closer to cuming deep in his pig’s filthy hole, and then maybe he can eat, maybe it can fucking eat! Drool ran from it’s mouth uncontrollably as Master thrust in time with the pig’s grunts, and then with a groan, he came, holding pig on for a moment longer, before letting him slide off. The pig tried to stand on two feet for a moment, but fell onto hands and knees, where it felt much more natural. Master’s cock was there, and it crawled over, cleaning off the filth from it’s own ass, and as disgusting as it tasted, it was too good for a pig like him, and it ebbed the hunger slightly, having something it it’s mouth to lick and slurp on.