November Bonus Story – Winston’s Stable Part 2 | Wesley Bracken on Patreon

This month’s bonus story is the sequel to Winston’s Stable! I posted the first part last month, which followed Mark, as his new Master used his warped science to turn him into his first beastly creation, Titpig. In the sequel,

Winston adds two new beats to his menagerie–Joey, who was Mark’s boyfriend in part one, as well as Joey’s current boyfriend Paul. Anyone giving at least $5 a month to my Patreon gets access to this story, as well as every other bonus story I’ve published–almost an entire year of extras at this point!

Below is an excerpt from the sequel–we’ll return to Orwell’s Demon tomorrow, I promise!

“Winston’s Stable II – Excerpt”

There was a click in the room, and a Winston’s voice appeared over the speakers inside. “I’m afraid I never had a chance to introduce myself properly to you both, when Titpig and I can to visit. I’d give you my name, but I assure you both that you won’t be able to remember it soon enough, so you might as well get used to thinking of me as your master–it’ll help speed things up.”

“You fucking sick bastard!” Paul shouted into the room, “You can’t fucking keep us down here–people are going to look for us.”

Winston laughed into the speaker, “Oh, I assure you, people have been looking. You’ve been down here for almost a month, after all. However–if they haven’t found you by now, well…I doubt they will. In any case, Paul, why don’t you put that mouth of yours to better use. Paul, suck on Joey’s nipples, please.”

Paul had no intention of obeying the disembodied voice, but his body didn’t give him any other option. He walked over to Joey, leaned in and started sucking at his chest, Joey trying to push him off, but Paul couldn’t take no for an answer. “Paul–Paul! Get a hold of yourself!”

“Joey, stop fighting, and enjoy yourself,” Winston said, and saw Joey relax against the wall, Paul sucking harder. After a few moments, Joey felt something around his nipple, a slight…tingle, which became almost an uncomfortable burning and pulsing sensation. He fought against Winston’s order as hard as he could, but all he could do was moan, and let Paul switch to the other, allowing him a chance to look at the one Paul had been servicing, seeing that in a few minutes it had turned swollen and red. Winston allowed Paul about the same amount of time on the other nipple, and then leaned over the mic again, “That’s enough foreplay–Paul, go ahead and suck on Joey’s dick, please, and make sure you get plenty of your special spit all over his balls too.”

Joey begged and pleaded with him, but Paul dropped to his knees with a whimper, and started slobbering all over Joey’s cock and balls, soaking them in his spit, and the same tingling, burning sensation spread over them as well. Joey had expected it to hurt, but instead it was turning him on more, and he barely heard Winston tell him to start toying with his now meatier nipples, letting his boyfriend suck him off, the burning sensation growing more intense as he grew closer, and when he came–the load was massive. He could…feel the force of his balls pumping cum out of him, it was so powerful that it actually hurt. Paul swallowed the entire load down, and when the flow stopped, he stumbled up…and Joey could see that something was wrong with him.

His eyes were glazed, and he clutched his gut, which gurgled loud enough that Joey could hear it beside him. “Fuck…I don’t…feel so fucking good…”

“You know what will make you feel better, Paul? Fucking Joey’s tight ass. You want your boyfriend to fuck you, don’t you Joey?”

In fact, it was the furthest thing from his mind, but Joey bent over the side of the bed, and Paul stumbled over, cock hard as a rock, and without even bothering to lube up, he worked the head into the hole–but to their surprise, his cock slipped in easily. In fact, Joey’s hole almost seemed…wet, almost as wet as Paul’s mouth had become, and still was–the drool flowing out of his mouth and down his chin as he fucked. Joey had liked the fact that Paul was a gentle lover, but this was different–this was rough and forceful and brutal, and it seemed like every thrust drove a bit deeper into Joey’s hole–and the deeper Paul went, the better it felt. He fucked him long enough for them both to work up a sweat, and finally he came, planting his load deep in Joey’s ass, and Joey felt it, the hot seed filling him up, that same burning sensation infusing his guts and spreading out to the rest of his body, leaving him groaning and writhing on the bed until the feeling subsided after a few minutes, and he could roll over and sit up and see Paul standing there in the room…and it was clear that something was different.

He still looked like Paul, mostly. But his body hair seemed a bit thicker, and his muscles looked a bit inflamed–not to mention his cock, was was either still mostly hard, or else was in fact larger, his balls hanging a bit lower. He was panting, drool still flowing from his mouth, and it seemed like he literally couldn’t make it stop, even as he licked his lips to try and keep it in. “Joey…are you ok?” Paul asked.

“I…I think so…”

“I…I think my cum…did something to you…”

Joey looked down at himself, and realized Paul wasn’t the only one who had changed–his slender frame looked slightly softer than before, and with a pinch of his belly, he realized he’d grown a slight paunch. Beyond his puffy, sensitive nipples, his cock was still tingling from Paul’s blowjob, but as the tingling faded, what remained was almost a numbness. He reached down and felt his cock, and was surprised to find…less than he was expecting. It was about half an inch shorter, his balls were smaller, and touching it…didn’t excite him much at all.

“That should be enough to get the two of you started,” Winston said, “Now be sure to enjoy yourselves, and each other.” He leaned back in his chair, pleased with his tests–everything was working perfect, now all he had to do was let his two pets have their way with each other for a few days, and they would be perfect before too long.

Inside the room, Paul threw his weight against the door again, and again…but Joey was finding it hard to care. He felt…dull all of a sudden. Relaxed and at ease, were perhaps better terms. He laid back on the bed, running his hands over his body, enjoying the feel of his slightly softer body and the gentle afterglow of Paul’s load. His hands eventually found their way to his nipples, and he gave them a twist and gasped–his cock might not be feeling much, but his nipples were much, much more sensitive than they’d ever been before. His chest seemed to have inflated a bit more than the rest of him, in fact, and with another couple of tugs, he noticed that his fingers were suddenly wet.

November Bonus Story – Winston’s Stable Part 2 | Wesley Bracken on Patreon

The Facility (Part 6)

WARNING: Strange TF

Holden’s body seemed to be…quivering and shaking all over, and expanding. It was all fat, that Quinn could see, and it was happening so quickly that his skin could barely keep up–even tearing the flesh at parts, though it healed over within moments, leaving him covered with scars and stretchmarks. He tried to speak, but something was wrong with his mouth–his whole face really. There was blood running from his nose and mouth down his chin as it pushed out, his jaw and skull reforming into some strange new shape. Quinn couldn’t look anymore–he got up and shook the doors again, but there was no opening them. He had to fight. He had to, there was no option. Beside the door, he saw a fire extinguisher in a glass case. He smashed it and hauled it free, charging at the monster with it raised over he hurled it at the things head, dealing it a glancing blow–the thing roaring in surprise and pain, before hauling itself out of Holden’s ass and charging at Quinn.

He dodged it’s first charge, but wasn’t expecting it’s tail to move as quickly as it did, tripping him and then wrapping itself around him tightly, so tight he could only manage ragged breaths. It was strong enough that it could lift him off the ground entirely, long enough to haul him around to face the thing’s snarling mouth, before it lowered him onto it’s cock as it stood there. He kicked and struggled, but there was no fighting it–the beast impaled him on his cock, making him scream in pain, his ass loosening immediately just like Holden’s had, and then he too, felt something begin pumping its way into his bowels, some of it seeping back out and dribbling to the floor from his now wrecked hole.

It was the pleasure which surprised him the most, catching him completely off guard. He hadn’t been able to see earlier, from how Holden had been face down against the floor, but Quinn’s cock hardened immediately, he gasped, and sprayed a massive shot of cum from his cock, and then another, eyes rolling back into his head, and even the horrific pain he felt as his body swelled with fat, skin ripping and healing as he grew, couldn’t beat the pleasure, couldn’t stop him from…wanting this. The cum was still pouring out of him in a torrent, his scrotum swelling larger and larger as he spewed, his cock growing as well, even as his new fat threatened to overwhelm it. He could…smell it. He was dimly aware that he could taste blood, that something was wrong inside of him, that his face ached–especially his teeth, but he could smell so much now. Smell his cum. Smell the monster’s cum forming a pool below him, how delicious it all smelled to him, suddenly.

Apparently satisfied with the result, the beast pulled him free and dropped him to the floor, where he landed on something large and soft, before rolling off to the side. It was Holden, he realized. It had been Holden. Whatever it was, it had crawled over from where the beast had been fucking him to the puddle beneath them, and had spent the last several minutes lapping up and eating whatever cum had dribbled from them both. Both of his arms seemed…smaller, almost atrophied. It was desperately groping it’s fat and trying to reach his groin–and his own strangely deformed cock and balls, but couldn’t do so. It took a moment for Quinn to realize that he too, was desperately trying to reach himself. He could only turn his head so far, enough to see his oddly misshapen limbs flailing about helplessly, but he managed to crawl forward somehow, his own face battling with Holden’s for whatever cum it could find on the floor.

Doctor Sondew was pleased with the results of the initial seeding. Further exposure to the beast’s seed, beyond another threshold, would trigger the complete transformation of subjects two and three–their arms and legs disappearing entirely, leaving them as little more than fat worms with a single minded thirst for cum, and whatever else the dear doctor felt they deserved. Of course, their human minds were relatively untouched, though no longer in control of their bodies, which would be governed by instinct from this point forward. Still, best to leave them…recognizable for what would come next. He would leave these two in the main facility, where they would be found, where the rest of the men in the camp could find them, know what they were, so they could see what they two would become tonight when he turned his beast on them. The woods were dark and terrifying, especially after the doctor’s small EMP had plunged their camp into silence, and killed all of their communications. After that, there would only be them, the darkness, the trees, and the beast from their nightmares fucking each of them in turn, until all that would remain come morning were the monstrous worms they all deserved to be.

Doctor Sondew would be recording it all, of course, and come morning, it would be broadcast to the entire world for them to see. To see what this company was capable of, to see what they had done. He and his beast would be gone by then, of course–and if that wasn’t enough, then he’d set the beast loose in a major city, and see how the world might respond to that.

The puddle of cum was been depleted, and both might worms had inched their way to his beast, their strange mouths and tongues licking at the monster’s massive balls. They could smell what was in them, and as much as they might fear it, they also knew that they needed it to survive. The beast was obedient, however, and refused to provide it, though it looked up to it’s master and gave a whine, telling him that it would very much like to continue with subjects Eta Two and Three. But no, there was work to be done. Two robots entered, wrapping up the Quinn and Holden and dragging them out to the room, to the elevator. His revenge would come tonight, at last.

The Facility (Part 5)

“Quinn. Quinn! Would you fucking wake up?”

Quinn moaned, opened his eyes, and found Holden looming over him. “What happened?”

“I don’t fucking know man. Get up, we need to figure out how to get out of here.”

Quinn sat up, his legs feeling like jelly, his stomach growling like he hadn’t eaten in days. “Fuck, I’m hungry.”

“Me too–I…I think we were out for a couple of days.”

“What?”

“I don’t know! Do you remember anything of what happened?”

Quinn and Holden had been outside the facility, checking ground lines and connections, when they’d gotten a message from Kerry inside that he’d figured out the issue. Sure enough, when they’d gotten back to the building the lights were on, but when they looked for Kerry down in the basement, all they’d found was his laptop–no sign of Kerry anywhere. They’d started looking for their partner in the building, figuring he’d probably went to check out some other part of the generators, or address some other problem, but they hadn’t gotten far. What happened after that was blurry and vague, but he could remember something…gripping him, like an octopus or something, and an injection, but nothing beyond that. Holden didn’t remember much else of interest either, and neither of them could recall seeing a room like this anywhere on the blueprints of the building. It was large for one thing–probably around two thousand square feet of space, and about two stories tall. The floor was tiled, and it was bare of furnishings aside from the two beds where they had each woken up, completely naked, a few minutes before.

There were two sets of doors at either end of the room, and after testing them both, they found both locked tight. They searched the room for anything else that might be of use, but came up empty handed–when a voice came on through the loudspeakers in the room. The voice was strange–it spoke english, but the words were almost guttural, and difficult to understand, like the person speaking had a significant accent neither of them could recognize.

“Welcome, Subjects Eta Two and Three. I’m sorry for the long rest and poor accommodations, but quite frankly, you don’t deserve better for cooperating with this company. However, I’m sure the two of you are curious as to where your third partner disappeared to a few days ago, well, I’m sorry to say that Kerry is gone–but I’d be happy to introduce you to what took his place.”

The two men heard a click as one of the sets of door unlocked and opened, revealing a small room beyond, and neither of them had words to adequately describe the monster which stomped through the door. It would have been easier, perhaps, to describe it in pieces–the head of a wolf, snarling at them as they backed up across the room. The chest and arms of a burly gorilla, the tail whipping behind it something between a gator and a snake, the legs similarly coated with scales, beefy with muscle, running down to two massive, webbed and taloned feet. Still, that all somehow seemed more understandable than the massive cock hanging from it’s crotch with its flared head, generally equine in shape and size, with two huge balls tight below. “What do you think? He’s a beauty, isn’t he?”

“Oh…oh fuck, what the fuck is that?” Holden said, standing there, but Quinn sprinted for the opposite doors, hurling himself at them, desperate to get out of that thing’s presence.

“This, is no longer Kerry, but I haven’t come up with a proper name for him yet. For now, this is Subject Eta One. The two of you will be designated Eta Two and Three, depending on which of you is mounted first. Eta One–please fuck both human subjects before you. Subdue with force if necessary, but do not kill them. Seed them both, and wait for further instruction.”

With a snarl, the beast charged toward Holden, who was still rooted in place, terrified, piss running down his legs as the thing slammed into him, throwing him to the ground with enough force to knock the wind from his lungs. From a distance, he hadn’t quite understood how large the monster was, but it reached a height close to nine feet tall, and it picked Holden up like a doll in it’s huge hands, turning him over and pinning him down, before shoving it’s massive member against his ass. “No, no please! It’s so fucking big!” he screamed.

“Oh, don’t worry–you’ll be able to take it all eventually,” the voice said.

The beast’s cock was already leaking, and as it ran down his crack, he felt his sphincter suddenly relax and release–if he had eaten anything in days, he would have shit himself–but the head of the thing’s cock forced it’s way into him, drilling deeper and deeper. The relaxation of his muscles did nothing to dull the pain, and he screamed, desperately trying to crawl away from the thing mounting him, but it was too strong. A moment after being penetrated, the thing…howled, and Holden felt the massive shaft begin…pumping something into him. Cum he assumed, but there was so much of it. He vomited and saw blood–the thing was raping him so hard he must have suffered some internal bleeding, and he looked to Quinn across the room, slumped by the door, a look of horror on his face. But Quinn wasn’t only horrified by what the monster was doing to his friend–it was what was happening to his friend’s body which had him chilled to the bone.

The Muse of Fantasy (Part 3)

“I still don’t think I quite understand what’s going on.”

“It’s really rather simple, Oliver. I want your help,” they said, and with a snap of their fingers, Kyle’s dull fantasy began to fall away from the room around them, and Nick was back on the bed, moaning for the “bull” to fuck him harder, while Kyle, in makeup, paid him little attention. “I want you to show me what’s in your mind, and in return, I want to help you make your dreams real. Make them true lovers, make them strange beasts, whatever you want them to be. Make them do whatever you want them to do. This is your fantasy now–show me what you can do with these basic bores,” They tittered a moment, and then one slender finger touched Oliver’s forehead–and it was like the world opened up around him, and he looked over at the two young men, smiled, and got up from his chair.

He could…see all of these possibilities, layered on top of them. Forms, acts, perversions–there was so much–but he walked over to Kyle, touched him, and felt him enter into the young man’s fantasy again. He waved away the celebrity skien from Nick, revealing him, and Kyle looked down, confused. “Don’t worry about him,” Oliver said, feeling him, “Think about what you want to be, about what a brute you could be. About how rough you could be.”

Kyle looked at Oliver, as though he was trying to understand why he was imagining Oliver standing beside him, but Oliver put a finger to his lips before he could say a word.

“Don’t talk. We all know beasts don’t talk–and you really, really want to be a beast, don’t you?”

Kyle moaned, his eyes flickering slightly. The makeup appeared on his fantasy form, and he started fucking Nick a bit more rough, making his boyfriend grunt with pleasure. “Yeah, good. That’s good, but it’s not enough, is it?”

Kyle shook his head.

“It’s not good enough, because it’s not real. You want it to be real, more than anything.”

Kyle shuddered, trying to fight the strange desires welling up inside him, but the edges of the latex were already starting to disappear, the short snout Oliver had designed growing longer and wider, like a true bull, the ring at the end punching a true hole through Kyle’s nose, making him snort, and buck harder. Parts of his face untouched by the makeup were beginning to change as well–his hair diminishing and becoming short fur which spread down over his forehead, cheeks and down onto his neck, which had become thick and corded with muscle as his skull grew heavier, his eyes dimmer.

“Still not enough though, is it? No–we need equipment to match, of course.”

Kyle’s cock began to tingle, pulsing slightly as it grew longer and wider, thrusting deeper into Nick’s hole, more and more pleasure overwhelming his increasingly simple, animal mind. The heavy silicone around his balls became flesh and expanded, pulsing with seed, coated with the same fur as Kyle’s new face. His feet began to blacken and harden, until Kyle stood on two wide hooves, human bones cracking and bending, forcing him into an awkward, hunched posture, leaning his full weight on Nick’s back, and his hands became the same, his arms shortening but thickening with muscle. His torso and belly had grown thicker, but still appeared superficially human–same with his now much wider haunches–aside from the long bull tail whipping around behind him. A monster. A brute. A chimera. A beauty.

“Stunning work. Absolutely freakish!” Amoredie said, clapping their hands, “I adore your mind, Oliver, but please, continue!”

As Kyle rutted, Nick had begun to sense that something strange was happening. His moans had become mild protests, asking Kyle to be less rough, but when that had gone unanswered, he opened his eyes and looked back, only to find himself staring at the face of a true bull, snorting and grunting and heaving his huge cock into his ass. He screamed in terror, and tried to crawl away, but the bull was too heavy, and too intent on fucking, to allow him to leave. Nick looked up to Oliver, “Please! Make…make it stop! What happened?”

Oliver squatted down beside the struggling, crying Nick, and stroked his shoulder. “Now Nick, I thought this is what you wanted? To be fucked by a beast?”

This? Is this what he’d wanted? Something…was taking hold of him, making him protest less, push back more, enjoy the sheer…size of the monster’s huge cock, stretching his hole wide. “I…But…Kyle?”

“You shouldn’t be worried about Kyle, Nick. You should be much more worried about what’s going to happen when that beast cums deep in your ass. Do you know the myths, about what happens when you let a beast like that fuck you? You become a beast too. A mindless, monstrous, inhuman fuckbeast, desperate to find other holes for your twisted seed, but also desperate for anything to use your holes, hungry for cum.”

“No–No, this isn’t…I didn’t…”

“If that’s not what you wanted, then why did you let it fuck you? It’s no matter, right buddy?” Oliver said, patting the side of Kyle’s thick trunk, “you’re about ready to fill this boy’s hole up, aren’t you? Any minute now…”

Nick started to struggle harder now, desperate to work himself out from under the monstrosity’s bulk, but even he could sense it was too late. Could sense that, deep down, he…wanted this, as much as he didn’t want to admit it. Something in what Oliver had said had changed him. Flipped a switch deep inside his guts, and now the thought of no longer being this frail, weak thing turned him on. Made him…excited. He’d stopped struggling, wondering what he might become, when the Oliver’s minotaur gave a long mooing cry, slammed in deep, and filled Nick’s hole with his infectious seed.

Beasts of the Corn (2 of 2)

I was completely turned around at this point, shouting for my friends, but getting no response. My phone had no service at all, so I knew I was on my own. A few minutes later, I got ambushed by two more of those things…and I remembered it a bit more. How one pinned me down and…and the other fucked my ass, it’s claws raking across my back, teeth biting into my shoulders. Again, when I could get up, I had changed–more hair, fatter…shorter, and were my arms a bit longer even?

I didn’t know what was happening, or how any of this was even possible, but I kept going, kept searching for the exit, even as the beasts followed–taunting me. I could…hear them now, even understand them. They all wanted me to stay, they wanted me to play with them, to…to feed them. I didn’t know what they meant, but I was determined to avoid finding out what they meant my all of that. One of them chased me, and I managed to dodge it and run away, only to run right into two more. I could see them more clearly now–they were like nothing I’d ever seen–no more than three feet tall, with a round belly and short bowed legs. Their cocks were huge, and they reeked of some scent which is just…impossible to describe. Those two raped me as well. I mean, I say rape, but…but I enjoyed it. It felt good, having them inside me, and when one presented its hole to me I…I gave in. I fucked it, like it had fucked me, but I stopped myself. I stopped and hauled my cock out…and it didn’t look quite human anymore, and it was bigger.

I understood, then, what these things were. I understood what would happen to me if I gave in, if I let them have their way with me. I ran off again, shutting my ears to them, refusing to entertain their suggestions. That I relax and stop running. That I play with them. That I become one of them. That I don’t really want to be human. There was…one more time, that I couldn’t resist. It was almost night, and I was exhausted and cold and hungry. One of them jumped me, and I was so tired of fighting, so tired of being so scared. They could all feel me, beginning to give in, looking to see if this was the moment I would break. I…felt my body shifting more–my beard longer, my teeth sharpening, my balls swelling larger with strange, inhuman seed, my brain dulling around the edges-losing focus and will, but I crawled away. I’d still be in there if I hadn’t found the exit a few minutes later, stumbling out of the corn, sobbing, unsure if I was happy to be out, or if all I wanted was to go back inside.

The hicks…I understood who they were now. They were like me–tied to the beasts of the corn. They offered me shelter and food at the house, and I took it, desperate. They were amazed that I’d made it out at all–they rarely saw anyone as far gone as me emerge…and stay. I knew what they meant. I could feel the desires tugging at me. I could never go back to that old life of mine. I could stay here, living with them, fucking…keeping each other as sane as we could be. Feeding others to the beasts so they might give us a night without the whispers, calling us back inside. I took another picture of myself, in the bathroom. I looked at myself as I’d been, and as I was now. No one was surprised when I threw my phone in the trash, left the house, and ran back into the maze, the beasts cackling with delight as they descended upon me in the darkness.

Source: danartrd

Beasts of the Corn (1 of 2)

I thought it was a stupid idea–I mean, who actually wants to go do a fucking haunted corn maze? I haven’t done something like that since I was ten. But when my friend and his girl suggested it, and Tina, my girlfriend, loved the idea, it wasn’t like I had a whole lot of options but to go along for the ride. It wasn’t like it would take longer than a couple of hours, and then we could go do something a bit more adult.

The maze was a few miles out of town, connected with some rundown farm. The whole thing seems sketchy as all hell–it’s all these sort of redneck looking guys running the show, but we all pay the admission fee, and listen as the guy talks about the maze, tells us to be careful and not get separated–and definitely don’t get lost, or the beasts in the maze might have their way with us. He added what I assumed was supposed to be a menacing laugh, but I just rolled my eyes. Sure, some spooky fuck will jump out at us looking like the wolfman–who gives a fuck?

We head into the maze. There’s apparently four or five secret locations, and the more you find, the better your chance at getting a prize at the end. Tina and her friend want to hunt them down, but I just want to get the damn thing over with, because the maze is giving me the creeps. No one’s actually hopped out to scare us at all, but I have this…feeling that I’m being watched all the same.

It was my stupid fault. While they were hunting for the clues or whatever, I was just looking for the exit. I would head down other paths, scouting things out, before heading back to rejoin them–and it wasn’t long before I got separated from them in the maze. The sensation of being watched was only more intense now–I turned the corner of the maze only to find myself facing a dead end–and there was…something waiting for me. There was a slash of fur and claws, and then it was on me–I don’t remember much at all, but I woke up on the ground, out of sorts…and my clothes had all been ripped to shreds, and my ass hurt.

I stood up, and found myself naked–but I looked different. A little pudgier, and hairier. My phone still worked, but didn’t have any bars. I took a photo of myself to see, and sure enough…I was different. Hairier, I even looked a bit older.

I heard a rustle in the corn near me, stood up, and hurried back the way I’d come, thankful my shoes were intact, at least. I could hear them, whatever they were, chasing me, taunting me. I had to get out of here before they caught me again.

Source: bareboy

A short variation on a theme posted by @vikingzombieboyfriend a few days ago, which you can find here.

“Think he’s dead?”

“Well he sure don’t look like he’s in very good shape.”

“Is he moving?”

The two men backed up as the prone, unconscious young man they’d stumbled upon as they’d been riding down the trail groaned and came around. They stepped back further, when he flung about, screaming–”Get off me! Fucking get away from me!”

They waited a moment for him to get his bearings and calm down, the young man sitting up, huffing, looking around at the two men who’d found him suspiciously–then down at himself, and found himself naked. “You alright? We just rode up on you a few minutes ago, passed out in the middle of the trail, buck naked.”

“I…Oh god, I…” the young man said, looking down at his hands, “Was it…Where am I?”

“About two days away from any road. Were you hiking with anyone else?” one man asked.

“He probably just ate some damn shrooms and went out of his mind, man.”

“God, I hope so..” the young man said, still looking at his hands.

“You don’t remember what happened?”

The young man shook his head side to side in a way neither cowboy found very convincing. He recalled something, but didn’t want to say.

“Look, we’re on our way out, back to our truck. If you need some help getting back to the road, you can tag along.”

The young man agreed, and after borrowing some spare clothes, they helped up up onto the horse behind one of them, and they kept riding on. Their planned campsite was a few miles further down the trail, and the he was only too happy to get there–the young man had spent the whole hour long ride sniffing at him, and…grinding up against him in a rather strange way. He wasn’t even sure the man had noticed he was doing it. Getting this close to him, he also smelled strongly of loam and rot, and it only grew more intense as they went.

As soon as they got to camp, the young man excused himself off into the woods, allegedly to take care of some business, while one cowboy told the other he had a feeling their new companion was probably a faggot. The rest of the evening, the young man seemed distracted and distant, though his eyes rarely seemed to leave the man he’d ridden with. They all went to bed early, the two cowboys sleeping together, because the one didn’t want to left alone with the strange faggot.

The other woke in the night, to the other man screaming. There, at the mouth of a tent, a bear had him by the legs, and with one yank, hauled his friend from the tent, clawing at the nylon in a desperate attempt to stop it. He crawled out after him, hoping to distract the bear–but it wasn’t a bear at all–some massive creature, and all he could remember was that both under the light of the moon, and in the dying light of the embers, the creature was simply…gray, like it had leeched the color from the world. It had his friend pinned to the ground, impaled on it’s huge cock. The other tent was ripped to pieces, the horses had escaped their knots and fled as well, and he fled too–but even as he ran, he saw the eyes in the forest, the grey eyes, watching him, chasing him, and the world only turned more grey as he ran, and the night never did end.

The Bathroom of the Lost (Part 3)

This time, in the darkness, it was different. Before, RJ had been terrified, the strange beings around him a kind of torture. But now, now every touch from a claw sent a burst of pleasure through him, strange mouths fighting for the privilege of sucking and gnawing on his cock, balls and nipples, eager to drink and absorb his cum. Still, RJ had a question, a burning question–when could he leave? He knew, somehow, that he didn’t belong here, that he’d come from somewhere outside–at the thought, the presence around him turned angry, and the pleasure became…painful. He could enjoy it at first, but then he grew terrified, the presence lecturing him inside his mind. There was no outside, there was only here, and he was here to be punished and to punish others–that if he continued harbouring ideas about the world he’d come from…well, he’d just have to see what might happen to him then.

The lights again. Now, they were too harsh to his eyes–the dark, he liked the dark better, he liked being in the pleasures of the dark. He hadn’t changed, much–not nearly as much as before, but his hands…they didn’t seem quite human anymore, and his massive cock was emerging from some strange sheath, that ran up his muscled, hairy belly. In front of him was the endless wall of urinals, but one of them was not like the others. In the place of filthy porcelain, there was instead a body, fused with the wall. It was upside down, the chest emerging from the nasty, grafittied tile, the head looking up at it’s tortured body, arms trapped in the wall, the mouth screaming in terror.

RJ…remembered him. It was the stranger, the stranger he’d fucked earlier. A voice in his head, a darkness, told him that this man had fought them, it had tried to escape, it hadn’t even tried to be good, be free, it still thought it was a person. So now, it had to pay. If it wouldn’t join them, if it wouldn’t help them, then it would be nothing more than an object, a filthy, disgusting object.

The man’s skin had a pasty look to it under the light,; RJ walked forward, hearing something click against the tile floor, the man trying to flinch away from him, and ran his clawed fingers down its abdomen. It…was hard, or hardening. He was hard…too. And he had…had to piss. He bent over, pushing his cock into the thing’s screaming mouth, feeling it widen to take RJ’s unnatural thickness, and with a guttural groan, he released his bladder, feeling much of it flood into this thing, making it bulge out, the skin turning whiter, the screams dying into a gargle as its mouth became the only feature remaining of it’s pasty white face. and RJ’s piss began overflowing the mouth, cascading onto the floor, soaking his hairy, clawed feet. It wasn’t a person anymore, it was just a thing, a filthy urinal. RJ…RJ didn’t want that, he wanted to…to feel good, like he did in the dark. He backed away, leaving the urinal brimming with piss, and the darkness swallowed him once more into their arms.

What they wanted was simple. They wanted his humanity. They wanted his soul, they wanted him to join them, to become the monster he truly was. Part of him fought, but he was weak, he’d always been weak. He always hated that part of him, that morality, that thing which had questioned his cruelty, doubted his self-serving actions his whole life. He was happy to be rid of it. He was…a beast. Violent, angry, vicious. He only followed that which he feared–and he learned to fear the presence, through pain. Pleasure was…so much better, so much more desirable, he would do anything for to feel good.

The light didn’t return for a long time. When it did, he found himself alone, in a small sliver of light just a few yards wide, the light making him shield his eyes. Unlike much of the bathroom, this part he now found himself in wasn’t lined by toilets or urinals, but by two mirrors on either side–and for the first time, he could see himself, his monstrous form. He could no longer stand on his feet alone–the massive bulk of his chest and neck forced him onto his hands as well, like an ape, his hands and feet covered with red-brown fur and tipped with black claws. His face–there was no longer anything remotely human. A snout, a maw, filled with glistening teeth crusted woth something black, white eyes shot with red veins, and deeper…there, right inside him, that same void. It was…in him now, contained him, as he contained it. He licked his chops with a purple tongue, leaving a line of slobber, feeling his cock emerge. Something…was coming. He’d been brought back for a reason, to punish someone, and the lights on one side of where he stood flicked on.

There. There, a few yards away. A man. A nasty, resistant man. He’d been there for weeks, it looked like, his clothing ragged, his face exhausted. He was scooping water from a toilet with filthy, cupped hands, trying to drink, hoping it was clean. The darkness, his God, it had been working on him, wearing him away, but he needed to be forced, he needed violence, he needed to witness his own helplessness and weakness.

RJ roared–the man turned to him, and the look of terror in his eyes made RJ desire the hunt, the fuck, even more. He had no chance–the beast ripped his clothes from him, pinned him to the floor, and rammed his cock into him, biting down, drawing and tasting blood, fucking him not until RJ came, shuddering, which he did over and over again. No, not until the man was sobbing on the floor, and yet pushing back, aching to be filled by this monster’s cock, did RJ withdraw and slink back into the void, into the presence to which he belonged, and together, they cut the lights, and swarmed their new prey into the dark.

The Bathroom of the Lost (Part 2)

It was more than darkness–it wasn’t that he couldn’t sense the world, it was that the world had ceased to exist. He couldn’t see light anywhere around him, he couldn’t feel the floor beneath his feet, but what he could feel was…hands. Or something that could be hands, or could, perhaps, be something hand like. Tentacles? Claws? There were so many of them, so many things touching him, that he couldn’t quite decipher any particular sensation, beyond a general, constant, violation. Whatever they were, they ripped away his clothes, leaving him naked, and began tugging at his cock, sliding…things into his ass and his mouth. The…smell of the bathroom only grew more intense, a filthy stank musk that seemed to press around him like a bubble, and then came something he could only describe as…a presence.

The other hands and sensations, they had felt….small. Disconnected from any sort of agency, but this–this felt like a person, or something person like, inches from him in the dark. There was a…heat, or an awareness of a body, but he couldn’t feel anything when he reached out, trying to touch, or grab, anything solid around him in the void. The heat pressed closer, to the side of his face, and he felt something slimy and thick worm around the surface of his ear, and then plunge inside his head, forcing its way into him, making him scream and go completely rigid, the other being taking the opportunity and forcing their way into him as well, into his ass, his mouth, his eyes, the very pores of his skin, the pressure inside his skull, his head…heating up. He could almost hear a voice, a whisper. It wasn’t words, or it wasn’t words he could understand, but the thoughts and the feelings…he could feel them. A hunger, a desire, a freedom. They were…offering him something. Offering him something, and all he had to do, all…all he had to do was…

The light returned. He wasn’t standing, like he had been, he was crouching in a corner, between two toilets, shaking and sweating and muttering uncontrollably, trying to understand what had just happened to him. He put a hand on the rim of the nasty toilet seat, and his eyes went wide–that…that wasn’t his hand. It was…huge. Large enough to wrap all the way over the thick rim of the toilet, the back coated with hair that ran all the way up his thick, veiny forearm and to his shoulder, where it grew even thicker. He hefted himself up and looked down at himself, at his body. RJ had always been proud of his physique, of being muscled, but he’d never given into the temptation fo drugs. He was proud of being a natural stud–but now, now it looked like he’d been juicing for years. His physique had exploded in size, his thick and solid, stretch marks visible under his hairy body–the fucking hair! He’d kept himself waxed diligently, all his life since he was teenager, but this! He’d never grown hair like this. He shook his head side to side, feeling hair whip around his head–both his short hair had grown into a thick, greasy mane reaching his shoulders, and his beard had filled in across his face–something else he’d never allowed to happen in his life.

Simultaneously, another bank of lights flicked on, and the stranger from before appeared, screaming “–me! Get the fuck off me, you can’t have me, you can’t have me!” It was clear he’d been screaming before the lights had turned on, but why RJ had been unable to hear him, only ten feet away, he didn’t know. His head…felt sluggish, but he could…smell him. He smelled just as filthy as before, but somehow he could smell the man better. RJ snorted, feeling his cock grow hard–and it had grown too. He’d been well endowed before, but now it was easily a foot long, with a thick foreskin shrouding the tip. He licked his lips and started stalking towards him, hungry for a fuck, for what…what he needed to do. The stranger saw him, and backed away, shaking his head. “Oh fuck, look what you let them do! Did you fight them at all? You have to listen, you have to stop! You have to fight it!”

Fight it? RJ stopped his advance, trying to listen, trying to…resist. This body, it was wrong, but it felt, and smelled, so good… “What…happened to me?” he said, but his tongue felt thick, the words falling slowly from his mouth.

“Listen, I’ve been here for…for I don’t know how long. They’re getting desperate, they’re trying to get you to do their work for them, but don’t! Don’t do it. We can fight this together, this place. We can get out! Please, please, just trust me, just trust me, and keep control of yourself, please…”

RJ…he wanted to do what the man said, he really did, but his…his body. It kept walking forward. The man kept talking, but he…he was done listening. He was…smelling, smelling him, how much…how much the man wanted him, but he just didn’t…realize it yet. He could smell the want, and it made him so horny. The man tried to feint past him, but RJ grabbed him by the arm and threw him to the ground, got on top of him, snarling like an animal, ripping away the man’s filthy clothes and shoving his cock in him again, raping him roughly, but this time, this time he could tell something was different.

The man fought, but he didn’t fight for long. He smelled RJ, he smelled what he could give him, how important it was to…to submit. After a few hours, the man wasn’t fighting anymore, he was begging for it, and then, hours after that, he was actively serving RJ while he rested, eyes glazed over, mouth drooling as he drank down his stinking piss, ate out his sweaty, hairy hole. RJ felt good–happy. He was doing it, doing what needed to be done, and when the lights went out over them again, the hands welcomed him back, the presence–it was so pleased with him, so happy with what he’d done, embraced him, making…promises, pleasures for him, for RJ, for being such a good boy.

The Book of Spirits

Commissioned by Scot158

***WARNING***

Contains raunch, watersports, scat, monster TF and castration. Grow some balls and enjoy it.

“…larazelius moralian trabio–no…tradionominus…”

Marcus paused and looked up from the book, feeling his cheeks heat up, and looked around to make sure no one was watching him, even though he knew he was alone in the apartment. This was silly, so fucking silly, reading from a goddamn book of spells in a language he could barely read–let alone pronounce–and he actually expected it to work? Hell, spells weren’t even real, but what was the problem with trying? He ran a hand along his bare cheek, wondering what it would be like to have hair there, and bent back over the book. There were only a couple of lines left, and then he could be disappointed, and never think about it again.

“…trandinominus dominita rowantine gran–grandicone folicius foralion.”

That was it, the incantation was finished, and he had butchered it, but it was done. Maybe he should try again, and try to get it tight this time. Hell, he would probably never actually get it right–what sort of language was this anyway? He ran his hand against his cheek again and froze. It was scratchy–he could feel stubble. In a flurry, he grabbed up the book he’d bought from the thrift shop and rushed into the bathroom down the hall, flicking on the light and staring at himself in the mirror.

It was stubble–actual stubble. Thick too, way thicker than the peach fuzz he was used to growing. He ran his hand across it again, marveling at the sensation. Twenty-six, and Marcus had never once managed to grow anything resembling facial hair–he’d always wondered what it might be like. When he’d seen that spell in the book, well, he’d never imagined that it would actually work, but he could see the hairs lengthening and thickening right before his eyes, and less than a minute later, he could barely see his cheeks or chin. He had a beard–a real beard like he’d always imagined, and he ran his fingers through it, and realized the growth wasn’t stopping. Frozen in awe, he watched as the beard went from short and trimmed to wild and bushy, before the force of gravity became too much and dragged it down to the top of his chest.

“Fuck…fuck fuck fuck,” Marcus said under his breath. What if it didn’t stop? What if…what if it just kept going forever? He must have messed up one of the words, he must have messed up the entire spell! His eyes glued to the mirror, he thought that maybe the beard was slowing, but he couldn’t be sure. He dug around in the drawers of the bathroom, looking for the scissors he kept there. constantly shoving the expanding beard out of his way so he could keep looking, and there they were. He bundled up the beard in one hand and with the other started hacking at it with the scissors, when he heard a scream of pain–both in his ears, and in his head.

“Hey, that fucking hurts, asshole! What the hell are you doing?” Marcus paused, and looked around for the source of his voice, but he was all alone…wasn’t he? He made to close the scissors on his beard again, but before he could the voice piped up again, “Don’t even fucking think about it, or I’ll make this beard grow so fast you’ll be lost in a pile of hair for the rest of your life.”

Marcus wasn’t listening, though. In the mirror, he’d finally figured out where the voice was coming from. It was the beard. His beard. It was talking. He could see a vague face outlined in the hair there, and when it spoke, the hair moved of its own accord. The beard was alive–how was that even possible? His hand shaking, Marcus dropped the scissors to the bathroom floor.

“That’s better,” the beard said, “Now, shall we introduce ourselves? You can just call me Hairy, if you’d like–it’s easier than my real name.”

“No, no this can’t be happening. I have to…I have to reverse this…” Marcus said, grabbed the book and started flinging through the pages, looking for a counter spell.

“Whoa now, calm down man, it’s alright…Look, you don’t have to do that, don’t send me back, come on…”

Marcus found the spell and he started reading it, enunciating the words as best he could, trying to ignore his still speaking beard.

“No, please. I haven’t been out in years! No, I’m not going back in yet–just stop. Stop the damn spell man, or…fine, we’ll do it the hard way.”

As Marcus kept trying to say the spell, he found the beard twisting his mouth, forcing new sounds out which hardly resembled the spell in the book, but he kept trying. This, whatever this thing was, it had to go, he had to get rid of it. He didn’t notice the tingle creeping all over him for about a minute, when he finally reached what should have been the end of the spell, but he knew it hadn’t worked. But then…what spell had this crazy beard made him say?

He was itchy–so god damn itchy, and looking down, he felt all the color drain from his face. His body–it was hairy. He’d never been hairy, his body had always been as smooth as his face. Hell, he’d never even had much in the way of pubes, but he could see a thick coating up and down his arms now, and it was only getting worse. “No–no this can’t be happening, this can’t be happening…”

“Oh damn that feels good,” the beard said, “Get ready to be one furry mouthfucker man–I can’t believe how long you kept that spell up.”

The itch felt like he was burning now, and he stripped out of his clothes, scraping at his hairy body with his nails for any relief, but there was none. The hair just kept coming, so thick that he couldn’t even see his skin anymore, the beard creeping higher up his cheeks–almost to his eyes. He had a pelt, a fucking layer of fur all over him now. He looked like big foot, he looked like a fucking animal. “What in the hell did you do to me? Why…what is this?”

“Look, just calm down, alright, and let me explain,” the beard said, “Did you even bother reading the books introduction?”

Introduction? No, Marcus had just skipped right to the spell. It shouldn’t have even worked at all! Who in the hell believed in magic anyway? Those were the thoughts running through his head at least, but all he could manage to get out was a quiet “No…”

The beard sighed. “Look, it’s called the book of spirits for a reason, dumbass. The book is full of beings like us. We’re kept locked up until a spell releases us to change something about the caster, or whoever he’s targeting. I’m called Hairy, because–well, it should be pretty obvious what I do. There’s others in there as well. Look, I haven’t been out in a long time, alright? I’m sorry for giving you all this hair, but I…I can’t go back in between the pages yet, I just can’t.”

“This is crazy–I’m going crazy,” Marcus said. The itching had died away, and he was busy stroking the fur, trying to figure out what could cause him to hallucinate like this.

“Ha, crazy? Try living in a book for a few millennia, and then you’ll see what it’s like to be crazy,” Hairy said, “Look, just a couple of days, alright? That’s all I need, and then I’ll go back in the book, and you’ll be as hairy as you want to be–no more, no less…how does that sound?”

A beard. His beard was talking to him. The beard that was really a spirit, a spirit that had given him a massive beard and this disgustingly hairy body, and he was supposed to deal with this thing? “No, I can’t. Change me back, and then get the hell out of my body.”

“Come on man, please?”

“Fuck no–this is crazy–I just want my old self back, alright? Now change me back, and get the fuck out!”

“Well I’m not going, and you can’t make me.”

As much as Marcus didn’t want to admit it–it was true. He couldn’t make the spirit go back, but he also couldn’t walk around as this hairy monstrosity for a few days, with a talking beard. “Look…I’m…I’m sorry, alright?” Marcus said, deciding he might as well try to be friends, since he might be stuck with this guy for a while. “I just got, well, a bit scared.”

“No kidding,” Hairy said, the beard rustling in laughter, “Still, I gotta say it looks good on you. I love a furry beast, the furrier the better. Man, the last guy who let me out–what, ten years ago? He just wanted a little moustache–boring as fuck! This is way more interesting.”

“Ten years? I thought you said you were in there for millennia!”

“Ha, not me, thankfully–I get out fairly regularly. Still, some of the guys in there–dang, they haven’t seen the light of day in a long while.”

Marcus looked at the leather bound book and frowned, trying to imagine what it must be like. “I’d probably go crazy.”

“Yeah, well so do they–trust me. Now–how about we go out for a bit, get some fresh air? I want to see what’s changed since last time I was out. Is that Kennedy guy still president?”

“Kennedy? That was…like, sixty years ago. You aren’t very good with time, are you?”

“Eh, what’s a few years here or there?” Hairy said, “Come on, let’s go!”

“I can’t go out looking like this–besides, Colby will be home…oh crap,” Marcus said, realizing that Colby, his roommate, was due home any second. “Look, can you…can you make me look normal for a bit? Colby will be home any second, and…well, he’s easily surprised.”

“I can do that,” Hairy said, but then paused, “Hey…wait, this is just a trick to get me back in the book isn’t it?”

“What?” Marcus said, “No! I look like a freak, come on–quick!”

“No, I like you like this, so this is how you’re staying.”

Marcus scowled, but didn’t have time to work out a retort. Colby had come home sometime during the conversation, turned the corner and saw the hairy brute in the bathroom and screamed. “What in the fuck–oh my fucking Christ!”

Colby was frozen in place, and Marcus didn’t know how this could get worse, when his beard spoke, “Oh, is that Colby? He’d look good with a beard too. How about it?”

Colby went as white as a sheet.

“Shit,” Marcus said, “Colby–I can explain!”

His roommate, however, had already taken off into the kitchen, and when Marcus rounded the corner, Colby brandished a knife at him. “What the–what the fuck are you? What are you doing in my apartment?”

“Colby, it’s me, Marcus–just calm down for a second–”

“Get the fuck away from me!” Colby shouted, and fumbled his phone from his pocket, apparently to call the police, and Marcus knew he had to fix this somehow. He turned around and ran back into the bathroom and grabbed the book of spirits and then back to the kitchen, flipping through the pages for the immobilization spell he’d seen earlier. He opened it to the page and started reading the spell, and he heard, and felt, Hairy start to protest, the beard squirming back and forth, but he wasn’t going to be deterred this time by a bunch of sentient facial hair. He had to keep Colby from calling the police, or else he’d probably be stuck like this forever, and in a jail cell, looking like the hairiest freak on the planet. He finished the spell, directed it towards Colby, and saw him drop the phone suddenly and bend over, clutching his stomach.

“Oh god, what have you done?” Hairy said, and Marcus realized that he wasn’t sure what he’d done. The spell was supposed to immobilize him, right, so then why was Colby still moving? And…and growing? He was growing, and getting fatter, but that didn’t make any sense at all.

“I thought…I thought it was an immobilization spell–what’s happening to him?”

“You fucking idiot,” Hairy said, “It sure as hell will make him immobile–now quick, find the dismissal spell, or else you aren’t going to like who comes out.”

“I can’t…I don’t…” Marcus said, trying to take all of this in. His friend was still filling up the kitchen–already he had a massive gut. He kept trying to bend over and grab his phone, but his belly kept getting in his way, and he tumbled over onto his face, before rolling over onto his back and trying to stand again, but the fat seemed to be piling up on top of him and forcing him to stay down. Marcus was just captivated by the sight of his struggles, until he felt Hairy yank down on his beard, pulling his attention back.

“Did you fucking hear me? Find the spell!”

“No, you tell me what is going on here. What’s happening to him?”

“Look at the spell again, and maybe read past the title this time.”

Marcus found the book on the ground and read the spell, and saw what he’d missed. It was definitely an immobility spell, but not like he’d thought. It was designed to make the target so fat he’d never be able to move himself again. “Oh…fuck.”

“Yeah, fuck, but that’s not the real problem, the problem is who’s going to be coming out, now that you’ve cast the spell. He’s busy changing your friend at the moment, but that won’t last long at this rate–fuck he’s powerful. There was a time he’d need a week to pull something like this off.”

“Who? Who are you talking about?”

“Just shut up and listen for a moment, alright? Look, every spell has a spirit in the book who makes it happen, right? That’s why I came out when you cast the beard spell. Well, some spells aren’t cast nearly as often as others. I mean, some of us get out once a year or so, usually Muscles, and a few others. I usually come out a few times every century. However, some of us haven’t been out in a very, very long time. And the longer we stay in, the stronger we get, and well, the crazier we get too. And that spell, well, that spell happens to be controlled by someone I’d call Filthy, and I have a feeling he is both incredibly powerful, and incredibly insane–so hurry the fuck up and find the spell to dismiss him, or we’re gonna be really fucked.”

Marcus looked over and saw that where Colby was, there was little more than a giant heap of fat attached to a screaming head pushed up against the counter, the fat overflowing now and knocking over furniture. How heavy was he now? He must be well over five or six hundred–could he be a thousand already? Heavier? How heavy did someone have to be to be unable to move? Another yank on his beard, and Marcus grabbed up the book, thumbing through for the dismissal spell, but he was having a hard time finding it. He was close when he heard a new voice, a deep rumbling laugh, and looking over, he saw that in the folds of Colby’s massively fat body a face had manifested–and it didn’t look particularly friendly. “Well Hairy, what do you think? Sure is nice being out after all these years.”

“Ha, yeah…no kidding,” Hairy said, while Marcus kept looking, “How long has it been, Filthy? A millenium?”

“Ha, no…try four millennia. Four millennia, seven centuries, eight decades, three years, five months and twenty-six days, as the calendar goes at the moment.”

“Wow…that’s…that’s a long time.”

“No kidding,” Filthy said, the folds curling up into a wicked smile.

“Marcus? Marcus, are you there? What’s going on? Why…why did I get so fat, and what’s this…this voice in my head, Marcus…It’s so loud…so…so dirty…”

“Hold on Colby, I’m trying to fix this,” Marcus said, but Filthy laughed.

“Oh, the dismissal spell? But I’ve only just come out! Don’t you think we ought to play for a bit before I go away again?” Filthy said, and before Marcus could react, the folds of Colby’s fat that formed Filthy’s mouth parted, and a long, slimy tongue whipped out, wrapped itself around the Book of Spirits and Filthy swallowed it whole.

Marcus just stared at the grinning face, and he felt Hairy say, “Well fuck.”

“So what now?” Marcus said.

“Well, I’d suggest running, to be honest.”

“Marcus, no, you have to help me, help…” Colby said, and Filthy laughed.

“My goodness, so much knowledge in here, so many spells, so many spirits…You know Hairy, I think you need to go away for a bit,” Filthy said, and quickly rambled off a spell. Marcus felt the spirit being hauled out of his hair and drawn back into Filthy’s gullet, and into the book which now resided there, leaving Marcus all alone, and faced with a massive problem.

“Marcus? Marcus, where are you? What is this thing? What’s going on?” Colby was saying, wheezing a bit. His body was so massive, and he fallen at such an angle, that he couldn’t see much besides his fat chest and the floor. He was so tired all of a sudden–just lifting up his head was a massive effort, and the voices, all of the voices in his head. The loudest one, the nastiest one though, it kept…telling him to do things, to enjoy it, to revel in being this fat, to imagine himself filthy, to imagine himself shitting and pissing himself, to imagine himself unshowered for years. The voice was terrifying, and he couldn’t get away from it.

Marcus skirted around his friend’s massive frame towards his face, “Don’t worry Colby, I’ll figure out…something.”

Filthy laughed, “Ha, fat chance, unless you managed to memorize that dismissal spell, you’re stuck with me until I’m good and done with this world, which I don’t think will be for quite a while. Still though, you’re a bit of a bother–why don’t I find someone else to keep you company while Colby and I have some fun together?”

“Now hold on, isn’t there some way we can work this out? Look, I didn’t mean to summon you, I just didn’t want Colby to call the cops or something.”

“Well maybe I should have!” Colby shouted, “Look at what you fucking did to me.”

“Well I damn well didn’t mean to.”

“This is touching, really, but I don’t understand how reminding me of the fact that you were going to leave me trapped in that book for the rest of eternity can be a good way of starting a discussion,” Filthy said.

“Look, I just mean, that maybe we can work something out where we’re all happy, alright?”

“Oh, I wouldn’t worry about that. See, I know I can convince Colby here to see things my way, and that just leaves the question of what to do with you. Now, I think that with all that fur of yours, you’d make quite a lovely little pet, don’t you agree Colby?” Filthy said.

“What?” Colby said his voice weak, the voice growing louder in his head, “I don’t…I mean, sure–so…so loud…”

“Colby, come on man, you have to fight it,” Marcus said, but Colby didn’t answer. He was losing this fight, and should probably bail, but before he could turn and run, he heard Filthy spew another spell in his direction, but unlike before where he’d barely felt anything as Hairy entered him after the spell, this one hit him physically like a train, an invisible force plowing into him, hurling him to the floor and sending him flying across the room into the wall.

“Have fun Beast. Now Colby, why don’t we continue our little talk? I have so much to tell you.”

“Beast? What?” Marcus said, picking himself up off the ground slowly. He could feel something inside him, something rampaging around in his veins, the heat building in his body, and he was panting and huffing. He lumbered over into the bathroom, every step strange and looked at himself in the mirror. Difficult as it was to make it out through his hair, he was changing again, and it wasn’t going to be pretty, he could tell. His nose…it was flattening, looking almost ape like, and when he opened his mouth to gasp, he saw that his teeth had sharpened into carnivorous fangs. He looked down at his hands, seeing his fingers pull in, shortening as his nails grew dark, sharp and vicious, the palms becoming tough pads.

“No…No no no,” Marcus said, even that simplest of words mangled by his new mouth, but the rampage was only just starting, he could feel the heat growing fiercer, the flood racing to every inch of his body, burrowing into his marrow, and the pain, it started as an ache and erupted into flaming bones, Marcus letting out a roar as his frame grew, packing on pound after pound of brutal muscle, his shoulders hunching over as his arms lengthened, his hands settling down on the ground. Even with his new posture, he still managed to outgrow the bathroom, and he squeezed out, cracking open the door frame as he shoved his way through. If he could stand upright, he’d have been over twelve feet tall, but in his new position on all fours, he merely crested nine, and was so wide he’d never be able to navigate this apartment, but strength and power and fury and anger and so much more rushed through him at frantic paces.

Marcus did his best to steel himself for the spirit’s assault, but it was not the kind of assault he’d expected. Beastly did not have a mind, or a voice. It had instinct, it had rage, it had greed. It appealed to every one of Marcus’ own worst instincts. Lust–he shifted his balance to three paws, one hand crudely gripping his shaft as it emerged from the sheath running up his belly and began stroking, a call somewhere between an ape and a cur coming from his mouth. Wrath–the claws raking their way across his tender shaft, the sensation new and thrilling and pleasing in ways he could have never imagined. Pride–he saw himself in the mirror, his narrow eyes, teeth bared, the power he held now, he was strong, he was alpha, he was a dominator, he would rule those beneath him. He snarled as he came, his foul, rich seed soaking the carpet in a swath before him, his musk, his territory, his right, his rule.

Meanwhile, in the kitchen, Colby was still trying to process what had happened to him. The events of the last few minutes had happened so rapidly that he still had a hard time believing that all of this was real. In fact, there was no way this could be real–just no way. He was probably just asleep somewhere, and he’d wake up, and he wouldn’t be this massive blob of fat, and Marcus would be normal, and none of this would have ever happened.

“You can keep telling yourself that, but it’s never going to be true,” Filthy said, and Colby whimpered, still not used to the fact that the spirit inside him could read his thoughts. “You know Colby, there’s really no reason for you to fight me here, if you simply cooperated, we could have so much fun together. Frankly, the way you keep fighting me, it’s starting to annoy me.”

“No, this is crazy. Get out of my body–get out of my head, just get out!”

“Aww, but I like it in here so much! Still, I must say that we need to make a few more changes here, now so I can feel a bit more at home–how does that sound?”

A stench–something stank, like a locker room, or a toilet, or an outhouse, or something equally ripe and horrid, and after a moment of gasping for breath, Colby realized it was him. He managed to shift himself up a bit, using all of his little remaining strength, and he could see that his entire body was coated in filth, a thick layer of sweat, mud, grime and who knew what else. He wanted to vomit, and yet…something about it…Was his cock hard?

“Yes…yes it is,” Filthy said, “I think you like being dirtier than you let on.”

“No, no you’re messing with my head.”

“Aww, just a little, but come on, admit it–you like it. It’s getting you so horny, that stench of yours, that filth.”

Colby let out a groan, and with a great effort, he found he could rock his body back and forth, the folds of nasty fat rubbing his cock and making him shiver with lust. Filthy was helping too, tightening the folds to make it even more pleasurable, and Colby took in a deep sniff of his own stench, thrilled by it.

“Think about it, Colby–between you and me, we could rule this world. You could be a king of kings, imagine all the world coming to worship you, serve you and your filthy, fat body–doesn’t that just thrill you? Doesn’t that make you happier than anything?”

Colby knew he should say no, but it was tempting–oh, so tempting. And it felt so good, thrusting his cock into his fat, the precum leaking all over his gunt, the copious amounts actually puddling under his fat ass. It was this scene that Marcus found when he came around the corner, snarling. An intruder, Marcus thought, imagining all the cruelties he could inflict upon him, all of the depravities. The beast in him hadn’t robbed away his intellect, it had honed it on the whetstone of instinct. Everything was so clear, so simple. Dominate, or be dominated, and he would rule, he would, he could feel it pulsing in his heart now, resting there, the beast at his core. How could he have been scared of this? He had been set free, he could see the world for what it was now. His senses were heightened, he could smell…just smell. Humans couldn’t smell, they had no idea what it was truly like, and my, what he could smell in the kitchen. The closer he came, the ranker it became, filthier than he could have imagined. Still, he would win, he would rule.

He sat back, ready to pounce, but Filthy was ready for him. Before Marcus could even begin his pounce, before he could open up that massive belly with his claws, he felt words draw the beast from him, and the confidence of instinct was suddenly replaced by horror crashing in upon him. He was a freak, a monster. He tried to speak, to plead for his life and sanity and freedom, but the noise he made were hardly recognizable as speech, though its pitiful tone communicated plenty. And now, now Marcus could see what Filthy had wrought while he was otherwise occupied. It was the stench rolling off Colby that he couldn’t get past, it assaulted his sensitive nose and refused to let up, and from the sighs and groans coming from Colby, it sounded like he was…enjoying it.

“Glad you could join us Marcus, you’re looking…well,” Filthy said. Marcus let out a whimper of fear, and backed away, doing his best to make his massive frame look as small and non-threatening as possible, but Filthy just laughed. “That’s the spirit, but still, I think a little time with my friend Submission will help clarify how things will be working from now on.” Filthy worked another spell, and for a moment, Marcus thought nothing had happened…and yet…

Doubt. It started as doubt, questioning his resolve from earlier. Who was he to have been so presumptuous? How could he have thought it was his right–his privilege, to rule? How could he have imagined himself as an alpha? No…No, that wasn’t his place, that wasn’t his place at all, he was lower than that. He was…a…a pet…

Marcus shook his head, trying to sort out the spirit’s work from his own thoughts, but it was working through his mind too quickly. He could smell that horrific musk, but rather than disgust him, it…it was a sign that the massive blob in there was stronger than him. He was weak, he was so weak and powerless, he lived…no, he existed to serve his better…his…his master, his Master. He came forward, head bowed, honored to be in the presence of so magnificent a being as his Master, and Filthy let out a booming laugh. “Well Colby? What do you say we help your new pet understand it’s new place?”

Colby let out a groan and shudder of joy, and a new scent flooded the air. Urine–Master was marking it’s place–it’s property. Marcus was it’s property, so it would only be right…Marcus took a step forward, to where he could see a puddle growing on the tile floor. But no, not just piss, there was shit too, he could see it piling out from between Colby’s massive legs– how could Colby have so much inside him? It looked like enough to overflow several toilets, and yet it kept coming, and from Colby’s shudders he was enjoying it far more than Marcus would have thought, but that wasn’t important. The animal got down and rolled in the muck, taking on it’s Master’s scent, submitting to his rule, and as he rolled, and before he could help himself he was feasting on it, drinking and licking and eating it down, a shudder coursing through him and he came once more, but not the torrent from earlier. The cum leaked from the sheath and Marcus felt so ashamed. How could he have done that? How could he have allowed that pleasure for himself, when he had not pleased his master first?

“Oh what a naughty little beast,” Filthy said, “What do you think Colby, wasn’t your pet naughty for cumming without permission?”

“Yeah…Yeah, that was a bad thing! Bad beast!” Colby said, and Marcus wanted to just curl up and die. How could he have disappointed his Master like that?

“I think we’ll have to punish him, don’t you? I don’t think such a naughty beast should have the privilege of cumming ever again, do you Colby? What do we do to naughty pets who can’t control their urges, Colby?”

“We…we cut their balls off,” Colby wheezed, and laughed, “We cut their fuckin’ balls off, is what we do.”

“That’s right, Colby, we cut their fuckin’ balls off. Have at them Subby.”

Marcus pleaded, he begged, but he could already feel Subby working away at his sack, feel it shrinking, and…and he didn’t deserve them, anyway. He had been a bad beast, a very bad beast indeed, and he should know better. The crushing pain as his balls were shrunk away further and further collapsed Marcus to the ground, wallowing in Colby’s filth, but soon it was overtaken by a sense of calm. He felt so…empty, and with one paw he explored his sack and found nothing…but that emptiness–he could fill it with something else. With adoration, with love for his Master. He crawled over and started licking his Master’s folds, thanking him without words for the honor of serving him, apologizing for his indiscretion, and admitting that his Master had made the right choice. Marcus felt so much better neutered, now he could focus on what was really important–serving his Master.

“That’s a good beast,” Colby said, one fat hand stroking Marcus’ shoulder and joy like he’d never felt erupted inside the animal, “Now, I went and made a big mess–and it made me damn hard. Get in there and suck me off like a good bitch.”

“Without a moment of hesitation, Marcus dug in under his Master’s folds of fat, careful of his claws, and began licking, lapping and sucking at the ripe shaft, Filthy urging both of them on, dragging them deeper into the sick and twisted fantasy of a long trapped spirit, and Filthy wondered what other sorts of terror he could wreak upon the world which had denied him freedom for so long. Colby could see in their mind’s eye what he had planned. He could see himself, so huge now, as massive as a house, his musk carried on the winds for miles, the sign of his reign. The world below him, the men caught in orgies of filth, his hordes of pets among them. Yes, Marcus was only the first, but there would be more, so many more abominations, each stranger and more hideous than the last. So many spirits had been trapped in that book for far too long–they deserved a chance to be free, a chance to shape the world–provided it fit in with Filthy’s vision–of course. With a powerful shudder and moan, he came, feeling Marcus’ raspy tongue lapping up his dirty seed, and he was no longer fighting Filthy’s vision–now, he was a part of it–a willing part, and as he felt his body begin growing once more, the apartment building cracking and crumbling around him as he filled the rooms to capacity, he couldn’t wait to see it come to fruition.