Sketch: Greg Meets The Orc

It had shown up on Greg’s doorstep one day. A package, no shipping label or address, with just his name written on it. Wondering if it was from one of his neighbors in the apartment building or something, he took it inside his place, opened it up, and just stared at the thing in the box, trying to figure out what, exactly, it was. It was big, for one thing. Big, and…green, mottled, or almost looking a bit like a camo pattern. He picked it up–it was made of rubber, or maybe silicone…and it felt…good in his hands, somehow. Almost warm, if that made sense, or like there was a little whisper of delight, the feeling after a parent pats you on the head and tells you that you did a great job. Then he realized what, exactly, he was holding, and he dropped it with a shudder.

It was a cock. Not a real cock, of course. It was a dildo, a freakishly large dildo, slightly larger than a beer can at its thickest point. Easily a foot long, the shaft almost bulbous, the head thick and flared, with PA in the head, two balls below it–all of it in the same dingy green pattern. All he could think to do was go wash his hands, but it didn’t do anything to get rid of that…sensation, from when he’d touched it. Greg was straight after all. He’d had girlfriends with toys, though nothing like this, and he’d never touched them. This…wasn’t for women anyway. Somehow, he knew this was for…men. For gay men. It was also meant for him, but that couldn’t be right. He would never touch something like this again–in fact, he was going to throw it out, and forget this ever happened.

Except he couldn’t quite bring himself to throw it away. He looked on the internet, saw how pricey these sorts of things were, and thought he might as well resell it…but he found it hard to do even that, for some reason. It just sat in the box on his side table. He would look at it before and after work, and all he could think about was that it seemed…lonely. It was a thing–things didn’t feel loneliness, but he…maybe if he touched it more, it wouldn’t…feel that way.

It was irrational. He felt like he was going a bit insane, but he was certain. The toy was lonely. It wanted his company. It wanted him to…to touch it. Not even put it inside him (not that he would ever do that) just…for him to hold it. One day after work, when he couldn’t stand it anymore, he plucked it out of the box, took it with him to the couch, and sat with it touching him while he watched TV–and he was sure now. The toy…was happy, and he…he was happy too, wasn’t he? It felt good to touch it, good to spend time with it, made him feel horny, being with it…

Greg didn’t know how the idea came to him. It felt like his own, but he wasn’t sure. He went to his computer, sat down, toy between his legs, his own cock pressing against it, and he started watching porn. But the dildo didn’t want his straight porn–no, that was disgusting. It wanted…leather. Big, muscular leather men, tall muscular brutes dominating other men, sweaty smelly alpha men…Greg was lost in the videos, grinding his cock against the dildo between his legs, humping it until he came in a massive climax more powerful than anything he’d ever felt before. He took the dildo with him to bed, no longer feeling the least bit weird about this, licking and sucking at the head, and the dreams…he had such strange dreams.

It got harder and harder to be away from the toy. Or from the Orc, as he’d started calling it, or maybe that was just its actual name. Why wouldn’t it have a name? It had feelings. Desires. Thoughts. He could almost hear it now–its voice. Rough and deep and guttural. But The Orc didn’t need to speak for Greg to know what it wanted…even if what it wanted seemed…extreme.

It wanted Greg to quit his job. Wanted Greg to spend all of his time with him. Wanted him to focus on working out, wanted him to wear leather, wanted him to jack off all over himself all day long. Wanted him to stop showering and stop shaving. He resisted for a while, but more and more, his time away from The Orc was…painful. It was hard to focus at work. He was short tempered and angry. Finally–he’d had enough. He quit without notice, planning on living off his savings, and spending time with what really mattered–with the Orc.

That was a couple of years ago now. Greg hardly ever leaves his apartment for anything anymore–after all, he has everything he needs right here. He wakes up, cradling The Orc close to him, and spends an hour worshipping it, cleaning it with his tongue, before beginning his routine for the day. First, breakfast–high protein–then his workout. He sets The Orc on its seat, flexes for it, showing off his body for The Orc’s pleasure, and then works out–after two years, Greg hardly looks like the slender, lean fellow from before. He’s massive–nearly 280 pounds of almost pure muscle from head to toe. He works out naked usually, or if The Orc prefers, in one of his leather harnesses, all of then custom made for his size. After a workout, if The Orc is pleased, he gets to cum–grinding his cock against The Orc until he cums all over the dildo and licks it clean again, before lunch–and then he usually spends the rest of the day doing whatever the toy wants. Sometimes they watch porn and jack off. Sometimes he puts on leather and toys with himself for the dildo’s pleasure. Sometimes, there are special days too–days like today.

Today, someone is coming over, and that means…The Orc needs to be inside him. It took a lot of training to get to this point, and Greg is proud of how well he did, training his hole up, so he would be worthy of holding The Orc inside of him. He spends a moment lubing up the massive toy, and then squats over it–it takes close to half an hour before his ass closes around the base, feeling The Orc’s balls against his own…and then it happens–Greg opens up his mind just as wide as his ass, and he feels the dildo slide deeper inside him–and then, he isn’t Greg anymore.

Now, he is The Orc. He grunts, and strokes his cock for a moment, happy to have a body for a while, though he knows that it can’t last forever. There’s a knock at the door, and The Orc answers it–it’s a young man, quivering a bit in the doorway–and The Orc leers at him, grabs him by the collar, and drags him inside. Greg watches from inside his body, as The Orc ravages the boy, feeling his own cock sliding in and out of the young, tight hole, but feeling more pleasure at the pleasure of his Master. In the end, it turns out that he is little more than a vessel for The Orc’s desires. It…terrifies him, sometimes. The Orc…wants his body for real, but isn’t sure how to make it happen, but there are…stories. In any case, it doesn’t matter what Greg wants, does it? The Orc cums, filling the boy up with his seed, and holds him for a while, letting the boy worship his musky, stinking, muscular body, and then sends him on his way–the boy leaving a few thousand dollars on the nightstand. After that, The Orc leaves him again, sliding back out of his hole, and Greg is back. He cleans The Orc dutifully, and then it is time for dinner, and time for bed. Tomorrow is a new day, after all, and a vessel’s work is never done.

Danny’s Bad Day

The day had not gotten off to a good start for Danny. He’d woken up late, struggled to get himself together on time, and now was just making it to the gym a half an hour after he had agreed to meet Matt there for their workout together. Knowing him, he’d probably gotten started, and now Danny would have to catch up or get left behind again. He pushed his way into the gym, and as he did, he felt…something odd. He didn’t quite know how to describe it, actually, like there was some strange film in the doorway, something he’d pushed through that was more than air. The sensation was gone in a moment, but as the door shut behind him, he realized he couldn’t hear the traffic or the sounds of people in the street outside the building, and the sounds coming from inside the gym didn’t seem normal either. 

He stepped up to the desk to sign in, and saw that someone he didn’t recognize was sitting there. Usually one of the owners of the gym, Sven or Taylor, were at the desk, greeting people as they entered, but today there was a tall, lithe fellow sitting in the chair, wearing a polo shirt, and looking friendly. Still, Danny didn’t have time or a desire to chat with a stranger, not when he was already running late, so he just scanned himself in, as the man said hi, and tried to introduce himself. Danny knew it was rude to just ignore him…but if he ended up working here for a while, there would be plenty of chances for them to get to know each other soon enough. Danny knew what it was like to be ignored anyway–and he kind of relished the opportunity to turn the tables on someone, especially someone as tall as this fellow, who was easily an inch or two over six feet tall.

Danny, on the other hand, was short. Very short. Five foot, two inches short. He was used to people looking over him, or looking down at him, or treating him like a kid. He’d started going to the gym with Matt, hoping he’d at least be able to bulk up a bit, but so far all he’d managed was to get a bit more toned, which honestly didn’t help his image much. He compensated by wearing some shoes with thick soles, but even that didn’t help a whole lot. Most days he was a nice guy–but with everything that was going wrong for him, he just didn’t have the patience. It was a shame really. He could have gotten what he wanted. But it was a bad day for Danny, and it was only going to get worse.

The guy at the desk, after all, wasn’t a exactly a new member of the staff. He was the new owner, in fact. Of course, the gym wasn’t even really a gym anymore, and it didn’t even really exist on earth–not like it had. The man sitting behind the desk had gone by many names over the eons–though the one that had stuck the longest was Loki–though even that name was old and somewhat forgotten at this point. Humanity didn’t really have the imagination for magic, or gods anymore, or for naming the things beyond them. It made things easier, in some ways, for Loki to have his fun. He was a trickster after all, a joker, a force to be reckoned with. He’d asked Danny how he could help him today–which he had asked everyone so far, as they’d arrived at his gym. He’d given everyone what they wanted–mostly, in one way or another. But this one–this short, impatient fellow–he was strong willed, Loki could tell already. There was always at least one. Loki sat back and decided to just watch for a bit, and see how long it took him to realize how different things were already. These ones were always the most fun, after all.

Danny got to the gym floor and scanned it, looking for Matt, figuring he would be working out already, but to his surprise, he wasn’t there, that he could see. Maybe he wasn’t as far behind as he’d thought. But then he saw something strange. Something that he just…stared at for a moment, certain he had to be seeing things. That it couldn’t possibly be happening, right in front of him.

It was a regular at the gym, but not an acquaintance of his. Matt would probably know his name–he was here more often than Danny. He had interacted with the man a few times–and it hadn’t been the best experience. The guy was a bit of a clean freak, and if you left a machine and didn’t wipe it down, he would walk over and berate you, and then drag you over and make you clean it while he watched, to make sure it was to his standards. Everyone had their pet-peeves of course, but…but now, he was watching this man, looming over a bench on his hands and knees, licking the leather clean.

Danny just stared, because it was so absurd. He looked around, wondering if anyone else had noticed what the guy was doing, but it seemed he was the only one that noticed it at all, and he looked back at him, and noticed something else–the man’s tongue…it wasn’t normal either. It was too long, his tongue stroking the surface with such careful caressing strokes, thick, and slimy, and…and Danny looked away, confused and disturbed, but now that he had noticed one odd thing, more began to stand out to him.

Over there, by the power racks, were a couple of brothers who were in here often and usually working out together. They were both handsome, tall, and if they weren’t actual twins, they consciously styled themselves to seem nearly identical–often even wearing matching tanks and shorts when they were here. But the brother’s weren’t working out–they were making out with each other, their clothes off and discarded around them…but that wasn’t what made Danny question his own sanity in that moment. It was that there were only three legs between the two of them.

He had to count them twice, just to be sure. Then he looked for four arms, and he could only find two, one on each brother caressing the other, pulling each other closer, and as he stared, mouth open and jaw nearly on the floor, he could see that their bodies were fusing together, bit by bit. Even the third leg between them was beginning to atrophy, and pull up into the rest of their body as the two brother’s mindlessly kissed, two heads sitting on one set of shoulders.

Then there was Anton, standing over by the mirrors and the free weights. He was flexing, as he did often enough–but his body wasn’t right either. His arms were too long, and there was more hair than Danny recalled him having. In the mirror, his face didn’t look right either–the brow too defined and heavy, his eyes looking a bit empty, mouth hanging open and panting, one of his arms moving down to stroke his cock, even as the other went up, and he started sniffing at his pit, like the stench coming from there was heavenly.

Danny just stuttered, unable to believe what he was seeing. Was he having a stroke? Was this some dream, or hallucination? Was he dead?

“Everything alright, sir?”

Danny spun around, and there behind him, was the man from the front desk, looking down at him with a rather impish grin. “I…I don’t…are you seeing…any of this? Am I insane?”

“Oh no–this is all real. Allow me to introduce myself–I’m the new proprietor here, at this gym. You would be Danny, right?”

“How…who the fuck are you?” he demanded, but Loki just grinned down at him.

“Is there something I can help you with? Maybe…with your height? Give you…yeah, I see what you want, you want to be noticed, don’t you? Well I can make everyone want you–would you like that?”

Danny didn’t know what the stranger was talking about, and he backed away slowly, realizing he had stepped into a place that was not what he was expecting. “I…where’s Matt? And where are Sven and Taylor? They’re the ones who own this gym.”

“Ah, I facilitated the sale earlier with them. As far as I know, they’re still in the locker room. We were discussing price when your friend came in…half an hour ago?–and helped us reach a solution. I’m sure they’re all still occupied. But I’ll ask the more important question again, how can I help you?” Loki bent down, looming over Danny, “I’ve helped everyone so far–he wanted a gym that was cleaner, and I’ve helped him take it upon himself to make sure every bench is so clean you could eat off it,” he pointed at the man still licking the bench. “Those two wanted to be even closer–and I would say it’s difficult to be closer than that,” he indicated the two brothers–their bodies now almost entirely fused. “And he, well, he fancied himself a caveman, in his mind, a mindless muscular brute. I’m just helping him look more like he sees himself on the inside. But you–what can I do for you? Just ask, and I’ll give it to you.” 

Danny backed away some more, and then fled in the direction of the locker rooms. He had to find Matt, Danny told himself. He had to find his friends! Maybe together, they could sort out what this creepy fucker was doing, and figure out how to put things right again. Loki just laughed–this fellow was a strong one! No matter–he would settle him in sooner or later, in one way or another. He followed after him at a leisurely pace, knowing that there was nowhere he could run. Maybe once he found his friends he’d have a change of heart.

Danny made his way into the locker room but slowed down as he did, not quite sure what to expect–especially after what he had seen out in the rest of the gym. He thought about his friend Matt, a massive bodybuilder who had spent years perfecting his physique so far. Danny had always been envious of him–of not just his height, but also of his sizable cock, which was longer soft than Danny’s was hard. His personality was electric–he was always cracking jokes, and toying with people, and flirting, and he had such confidence. Danny felt lucky to be his friend, but now…well, what could this man have possibly done to him, and to Taylor and Sven too? Taylor was tall and lanky, and loved to play basketball, while Sven was shorter and stockier–thickly built and powerful…and what could all of them possibly want? They all had what Danny desired after all–he couldn’t really fathom what this man would have done to them, what he might have given them that they didn’t already have. But he could hear the moans coming from around the corner, smell musk, and sweat, and other strange odors on the air. He knew he should run–but he had to see. He had to try…and help them, he supposed.

He turned the corner, and there were three people there–but none of them were immediately recognizable as any of his friends. The scene unfolding was so absurd, that if he hadn’t known it was real and that all three of them were his friends, he would have laughed at the sight of it. One of them–she was beautiful, really. A transwoman with a stunning face, gorgeous hair cascading down past her broad shoulders, two muscular breasts jutting out, and there, below those, was one of the largest cocks he had ever seen. The woman was moaning, a deep, sensual voice echoing around the tiled room, as a second…thing was hunched over, suckling on one of her breasts while she stroked her cock. Danny had to creep around a bit to get a look at the second person, just to make sure he really was seeing this…beast.

It wasn’t a man–it was…a minotaur? That was the closest thing he could imagine for the beast suckling on the woman’s tit, lips frothy with milk, eyes gazing up at her face in awe and lustful worship. He was massive–easily six and a half feet tall, but large parts of his body were no longer human at all–his face was already contorting into a short, broad snout, his eyes were vacant and bestial, he had two horns pushing their way out from his skull, and there was a thick metal ring through his wide nose to complete the image. Below the waist, he was similarly changing–brown and white fur running down his massive legs, to where his feet had become heavy hooves–and his cock, emerging from a sheath, was easily a foot long, and no longer the least bit human in shape, with a flared head mottled skin. Behind him, a tail was even flicking back and forth, growing longer with each swing, a tuft appearing on the end as well. 

And that left the third figure–some sort of massive blob of a man lying nearby, watching the other two while stuffing his face with food. Danny had no way to even guess how much the thing might weigh–probably close to a thousand pounds, if not even a bit more. The man’s body was more slug like than anything else at this point–Danny could see small, vestigial legs on the end of his body, slowly withering away to nothing, while the rest of his body just became a singular, pulsating mass, pushing itself forward, moaning as he did–Danny realized it was because the fat slug man was dragging his cock against the ground–and whatever it looked like, it was probably large, and it left a scummy trail of white cum behind his body as he moved. He no longer had a head–or at least not one that could be separated from the rest of his oozing body. The man’s neck was too fat to really differentiate the head from the shoulders, or from anything else. His eyes were small and beady, the nose wide, but it was the mouth–the massive, gaping maw, droll running out of it and down his flabby chest–it was the mouth that he just stared at, unable to fathom how something like that could even happen.

It had to be a lie. These couldn’t be his friends, it was impossible. It had to be impossible. 

“Let’s see,” Loki said, coming up behind him, “Sven was more than happy to give up his share of the gym, once we had a chat. He’s always secretly thought exercise was too much work, and resented the fact that he couldn’t just eat–well, eating is what he does best now, and he’s so much happier now. As for those two, they were a bit more difficult. See, Matt didn’t want to change–not really, but he did have this fantasy. A strong woman, huge breasts, a massive drooling cock, milking her, suckling from her, getting fucked my her and then fucking her back. Taylor–well, I don’t know if she was really willing, but she seems to be enjoying herself now, don’t you agree? Still, Taylor needed something too–a real beast, a monster to fuck her, hungry for her milk–well, Matt will be her bull from now on, worshiping her entire body and keeping her oh so happy. Matt did love having everyone call him ‘Toro’ after all–doesn’t it suit him? I think they got quite a bargain for this place. More than money could buy, certainly.”

“I’m…this is sick! What the fuck is wrong with you? How could you do this to people?” Danny asked, and Loki just looked at him, eyes lax, like he was bored already.

“Because when you have lived a life like mine, and when you can do what I do, why would you do anything else? Why not give people what they want?–which brings us to you, little man,” Loki said, and squatted down, emphasizing just how low he had to get to look Danny in the eyes. “I can give you what you want too. Big man–bigger than all of them, and no one will be able to look away from you. Big cock too, you’ll be so happy here, with the rest of my toys. Isn’t that what you’d like? That’s why you come here after all–to change yourself. Because you aren’t happy like this–none of you were happy, this is not a place where happy people come. But this–this is true happiness, what I can offer you.”

Had things gone differently that day already, Danny would have said yes. After all, he wanted so much more than the rest of them, had wanted for so much longer, but this day, he balked. He balked, because he knew that what Loki was offering wasn’t really what he wanted, and looking over at his friends, all of them warped beyond their humanity, he knew that he would not fare any better than them, in the end, no matter what Loki promised him. “No–No, I’m getting out of here, and I’m getting them out with me. I’m not going to let you do this to him you fucking freak!”

He charged at his friends, first to Matt, tugging on his shoulder, shouting in his ear, but he didn’t even seem to notice him. Taylor, too didn’t so much as turn her eyes down to look his way, as she pushed Matt down to her cock, “Come now little Toro, suckle on your mistresses’ cock you fucking beast,” she whispered to him, and Matt didn’t need anymore urging. He took her cock in his mouth and started to suck, drinking down her milk, and Danny could…see his body bulking up even more, piling on more muscle as he mooed gently around her cock like it was a teat. Danny backed away in horror, and then turned to Sven–but he had no luck with him, either, not even when he pounded on his flabby body, trying to do whatever he could to get their attention. His anger turned to panic, and he started shouting louder, desperate for anyone to see him, or pay attention to him, but it was like he didn’t even exist to them anymore.

“It was rude, you know, what you did when you came in,” Loki said to him, and Danny turned around and looked at him. “You ignored me. Not many men have ignored me, in my life. But you enjoyed it in the moment, I could feel it. You felt justified, because you thought I was just someone working the desk, not someone you had to care about. Perhaps I should make it so no one will notice you ever again?”

“Fuck you, you fucking piece of shit. How fucking dare you do this to us? You nasty fucking–” but that was as far as Danny got, as something happened to his mouth. It happened in a moment, his teeth dissolving as his lips contracted tight, feeling like they were caught in a tight pucker. He couldn’t speak, or breathe, and he clawed at his throat for a moment, until he realized he didn’t need to breathe, and he probed his face, cautiously with his hands, and felt that his mouth had…become an asshole. His nose had disappeared as well–and when he tried to scream, all that came out was a loud, noxious fart–and Loki burst into an uproarious laugh.

“Curse me, will you?” Loki said, “I’m the one with the curses around here, little man. If you can’t show me a little respect, then I don’t see why I should even give you the privilege of having a mouth any longer.”

Danny looked around for a moment, looked up at his friends–and realized the only chance he had to help any of them, would be to try and save himself. So he ran. He ran out past the still laughing Loki, fled the locker room, but as he ran, he could tell something else was happening to him. The ceiling was looming higher and higher above him, and the ground was coming up closer. He was running at the same speed, and yet felt like he was going slower and slower. Still he pressed on, slowing to a waddle, and he reached the doors to the gym, gave a mighty push, but while he could feel them rattle–he no longer had the strength to move even one of them, in order to escape.

In the glass, he could see himself reflected dimly. Now only two feet tall, if not a bit shorter still than that, his arms and legs had shrunk–his legs especially, now two thick stumps only a few inches long, that could barely carry his thick trunk of a body. Even now, he was wobbling slightly, unable to really keep his balance well without something to lean against. His new asshole took up most of his smaller face now, and he just had two smaller eyes–and his hair and short beard were different as well–curly and thick, more like pubes, than like actual hair. He looked around in terror, not sure what to do, or where he could hide, when he heard–and felt, footsteps behind him, and saw Loki casually sauntering towards him, not a hurry or a care in the world, knowing as well as Danny knew that there was nowhere he could go.

“Well–is it what you wanted, little man? Little asshole? What do you think–should I just leave you like this–everyone oblivious to you, just running around this place, trying to avoid being stepped on by all the brutes around here, now really just the runt under their feet you always feared you light be? Or are you going to cooperate? Give up, let me in, and I’ll make you happy–I promise.”

What choice did he have, really? Danny nodded, and relaxed, and he…could feel it. Feel the place permeate him somehow, like he belonged here. Behind him, the door sealed itself shut–perhaps it was still there, but for Danny–as for Matt, and Sven, and Taylor, there was no escape for them now. They were permanent residents in Loki’s kingdom here–for better or for worse. He braced himself, wondering what it would feel like, growing larger…but it became apparent after a moment that nothing was happening. He opened his eyes, looked down at himself, and saw that he was the same strange freak he’d been moments ago–Loki said he would give him what he wanted!

“No–I said I would make you happy–that is a very different thing,” Loki said, turned, and walked off back into the gym.

Angry, Danny waddled off after him, trying his best to keep balance on his tiny legs and feet, but Loki easily covered more ground than him, leaving the little asshole in the dust. Danny got tired quickly, and leaned against a bench to rest, looking around the place, at the freaks surrounding him. The man cleaning the benches was stuck on all fours, his tongue several feet long and very wide. The ape man was now beating his chest before grabbing weights and lifting them–massive amounts, really, obviously pleased with his new form. He looked around for the twins, but didn’t see them–then he turned around and saw them looming over him, obviously aware of his existence.

They were massive–easily nine feet tall, and as broad as two men. Their skin had taken on a greenish, greyish hue, and thick curly black hair was sprouting all over them. Their heads and faces were still identical, but had taken on a monstrous edge, thick tusks and short horns, like a rhino, were jutting from their forehead.  But closer to him, he could see a pair of foot long cocks, jutting out from the same root, and below that, a massive sack with four, churning balls inside. “Look bro, a little asshole!” one head said to the other. 

“Oh man bro, let’s put my cock in him.”

“No, mine! I saw him first.”

“Oh fine bro, but I get to fuck him after you.”

Danny tried to run, but the ogre’s arms swept down and picked him up like he weighed nothing, and holding him in both hands, they forced one of the cocks into his new mouth. It didn’t hurt, like Danny expected it to–instead, a massive wave of pleasure surged through him, and he shuddered, his insides rearranging, pulsing and vibrating around the ogre’s massive cock.

“Fuck bro, this little asshole feels great!”

“Kiss me bro, come on.”

The two ugly heads turned and made out, both hands working together to fuck Danny up and down on the cock, the sensation overwhelming Danny’s mind, and he wanted more. Wanted them to fuck deeper, wanted them to fill him up with their seed, wanted to please them, because pleasing them made him so happy too. 

One cock came, pumping a massive load of cum into Danny’s body, and he felt…full, a hunger he hadn’t even noticed brewing inside him feeling more sated. The ogre pulled him off one cock, and impaled him on the other, and repeated the fucking. After a couple of minutes, that cock too was spent, and the ogre gently set him down on the bench, where Danny rubbed his belly, full of cum, feeling…so happy. Content, even. He was a little asshole–and little assholes needed to be fucked.

The simple idea of it made what remained of his rational, human mind begin to short circuit and wither away. He knew what he was. He knew what made him happy. He needed to get fucked, of course–what else was there for a little asshole like him? He thought about Taylor in the locker room, wondered how it would feel to be wrapped around her massive cock. Matt, too–his new bull cock was so long that it might even come out the other end, leaving him impaled on it, sliding up and down…

Danny shuddered, and he carefully got down from the bench, even more unstable on his little legs, but he crossed the gym floor as quickly as he could, heading for the locker room. The day had started out terribly–but it was already looking brighter, for a little asshole like him.

The Journal of Peter Bishop

This story was commissioned by Tauro2, who I also want to credit as a co-writer on the piece. After reading my commission, he added a few entries of his own, especially to the ending. Hope you all enjoy it! You can find more of his writing over here.


Report 4610-12 of the Special Investigations Bureau

Overview

What follows are excerpts from a journal found, found at a trail head in the Rocky Mountains in April 2018. The journal belonged to one Peter Bishop, who had gone missing on the trail in July of 2017. The journal has been determined to be authentic by one Tasha Holmes, who was Peter’s girlfriend at the time of his disappearance. He kept the journal as a record of their backpacking trip through the wilderness, and his encounter with two other men, still unidentified, known only in the journal as Saul and Jim. What follows are excerpts from that journal relevant to Peter’s encounter with Saul and Jim, their activities together, and material relevant to his disappearance. The journal itself is considered a class two contaminant–access to the journal itself is restricted to level three classification with full PPE protocol 7 required for access.

***

July 16th, 2017 

[…] As I’ve written earlier, you get a strange sense of loneliness out here on the trails. I think I have seen more animals out here any people, and given how Tasha can get when she’s bored, I sometimes wonder if they might be better company! We’re a few days out from the next trailhead, where we can go down to town and resupply, maybe spend a night in a bed even! 

It was a surprise then, and a welcome one, that when he rounded a corner of the trail we found a nice campsite, and it was already occupied! I couple of guys were there, named Jim and Saul, already settled in and cooking themselves dinner–a rather tasty looking roast hare that Jim had, apparently, snared himself earlier in the day. They were generous with the meat, and neither of us had had fresh anything in days–since our fishing skills leave much to be desired, as I have noted.

It was nice having some conversation for a change, and both Jim and Saul have a great sense of humor and quick wits. Tasha, though, was quiet all evening, and it was later that I found out why–she was understandably nervous about the two of us camping with two strange men out in the middle of nowhere–what if they killed me raped her, she wondered.

Sigh–she can be so extreme sometimes. I don’t think we have anything to worry about. […]

***

July 17th. 

We woke up this morning, to discover that Jim and Saul were braking camp themselves, and were heading in the same direction as us–towards the next trailhead. I suggested that the three of us might as well hike together for the company at least, and both Jim and Saul were thrilled at the prospect of me coming along with them.

Tasha was pissed at me though. She wanted us to camp here one more night, and then leave, so we could be away from them. I pressed her for more details, about why she was so nervous about these two, but she wouldn’t give me much of anything. They smelled, she said (we all smell–none of us have been near an actual shower in weeks) she didn’t like how friendly they were with me, while neither one of them had said ten words to her this entire time. A few times, she caught Jim looking at her with a real…nasty sort of disdain or disgust. Maybe he was, and maybe he wasn’t. It made me think about how jealous she could get, if we were at the club and another girl was looking at me. 

Knowing it would probably just piss her off more, but kind of enjoying it, I told her that they were probably gay. Two guys with few boundaries sleeping in one tent in the backwoods? She got all huffy then, but she knew I was probably right–it explained why neither of them had shown her any interest at all, but that only made her angrier I think. She didn’t really like gay guys much–though lesbians are fine if they’re flirting with her, naturally.

I’ll have to make sure she doesn’t read this part–but I’m starting to have my doubts. A month in the outdoors, relying on someone…you get to know them more than you want to, in some ways.

[…]

After lunch, we get moving again. Jim, who is pretty obviously the strongest of all of us, moves to the head of the pack. Tasha is behind him, and ahead of me, still mad about that dig I gave her over lunch, and that left me and Saul in the back, a good ten yards back from them both. Saul is…well, built like a brick shit house, and a few inches shorter than Jim. He’s plenty strong, but more in the ‘lifting heavy shit kind of way’ and not in the ‘cover ten miles a day for two weeks kind of way’. I like his pace a bit better honestly, even if he sweats like a pig, and kind of smells like one too, let’s be honest. We chat, and I ask them where they’ll be finishing their hike, and they tell me they’re heading to a particular cave deeper in the mountains. It’s a few days out from the trailhead we’re heading to, so they’ll be going off from there. 

I ask them about it, and Saul talks wistfully about it. Right by a massive mountain lake, great views, lots of stuff to forage, good hunting for snares. He and Jim usually stay there for a week, living off the land, before coming back. He did such a good job selling me on it, I kind of want to see it myself, honestly.

[…]

I mention it to Tasha in our tent, the cave, and she…gets so angry at me for even mentioning it. She tells me that Jim was so cold to her earlier, and…she swears he bared her teeth at her and growled when she tried to make conversation. Jim was so nice over dinner though–I don’t get it. They’re two perfectly nice guys–why does she have to try and hate everything that seems threatening to her?

***

July 19th

The weirdest thing just happened. The call of nature woke me up and I went out to piss on a tree. I was just about to start when Jim scares the shit out of me. How can he be so quiet moving through the forest? Not just that, he was shirtless. He has to be the hairiest guy that I’ve met in my whole life. He said that he needed to piss too and asked to join me. I usually don’t like peeing next to other guys, even in a restroom with dividers, but when he sidled up next to me–way too close for comfort…it actually was kind of nice, somehow. So we’re standing there, pissing away at the same tree, and Jim asks me about Sasha–it’s pretty clear there’s no love lost between the two of them. I guess I should have defended her more, but yeah, she’s really been a wet blanket so far on this hike. I finished up, wished him a good night, and he turned to say goodbye. It wasn’t until I got back to the tent that I realized that he had peed on me a little at some point. I could…smell it, and it made me a bit horny, somehow. I thought about waking Sasha up for a little fun, but I just ended up jacking off quietly instead. It seemed…better.

***

July 20th

[…]

I didn’t think she’d actually just…leave like that. Fuck–well, it’s too late to chase her down now, and honestly…I’d rather hike with Jim and Saul, if I’m being honest.

We hit the trailhead around noon, just in time for lunch. Tasha and I hadn’t mentioned the cave since I first brought it up–but now the moment of truth is here, and I start asking the guys about it again, just to get some more details. It’s about 20 miles, but the trail is rough and hard going–it takes about three days in, and two out–once you know the land–and you’re going downhill. Tasha immediately notes we don’t have the supplies–and she’s right. But after hearing them talk about it for days now, I’m, well, I really want to see the thing!

Tasha refuses to even play the game, as I try and figure out how to make it work. She wants us away from them as fast as possible, and she blows up at me, and at them, yelling that they’re turning me against her, that she hates them, that if I don’t leave with her this second, we’re through. She gets up, grabs her pack, and heads for town a few miles out. I let her–and figure she’ll come back in a second when she realizes she doesn’t have my half of the gear anymore–but while we wait a couple of hours after lunch, just relaxing and chatting…she really did just fuck off and leave me here.

I tell the guys I need to find her…but they just laugh, and tell me to leave her. She obviously doesn’t have my sense of adventure–and they’re right. Saul tells me that they have enough food for the three of us, that Jim is the best hunter, and Saul is the best forager, and we’ll have plenty to eat.

So fuck it. I went with them. Why not? I’m tired of Tasha anyway–I don’t care if she waits or not. I’ll be down in a couple of weeks probably, and we’ll sort things out then. For now–I want to see this cave, and enjoy the forest. That’s what I came here to do anyway–not to play stupid games with her.

[…]

Fuck, I just realized she has the tent with her. I told the guys, and they laughed, and told me I could sleep with them–said they’ll keep me safe from the bears and wolves.

[…]

***

July 21st

Well that was an interesting night. I had been carrying the food for most of the trip, while Tasha had the tent–when she marched off yesterday, we didn’t exactly take the time to redivide the packs. I told Jim and Saul that I’d just sleep under the stars, but they insisted that there was enough room in the tent with them…and they were mostly right. I figured I’d end up on the outside, but they put my stuff in the middle between them, and after the day’s hike along the narrow, overgrown trail, I was too tired to argue. Then, both the guys strip down to just their underwear–Jim in a…really nasty looking jockstrap, let’s be honest, and Saul just has on some equally nasty briefs, and they climb in and just sandwich me in there.

Jim is behind me, and spooning me, and my face is planted right next to Saul’s sweaty, stinking pit. I thought he smelled bad on the trail, but being that close to him–to them both, honestly–was something else entirely. They both fall asleep in moments, and I’m left trying to get comfortable–but I do drift off eventually…and that’s when it happens.

It must have been some dream. I can’t remember a single bit of it. All I know is that I’m woken up by Jim shaking me, and I’m shuddering, and realize a moment too late that I just had a wet dream between them. Saul is awake too, and the two of them just start laughing, and I feel humiliated, honestly, but then they’re hugging me tight, and…and I actually do feel better, you know?

I can’t remember the last time I’ve had two guys touch me as often as they do. They want to be around me. They want me here–I really believe that. And…more and more…I want to be here too.

[…]

Caught a whiff of Saul’s BO on the trail, and immediately popped a huge boner. Fuck–what the fuck is wrong with me?

[…]

As the day wore on, Saul and Jim kept taking off clothes, complaining about how hot it was. It was hot, but not…that hot, with this many trees and the brush we’re pushing through. But we hit a meadow just now, and I looked and saw Jim take off his pants too, and shove them in his pack. His ass…fuck, why the fuck am I looking at his ass? Jim wants to camp here for the night, and he runs off into the woods, mostly naked, to ‘set some snares’ while Saul lumbers off to go forage, leaving me alone to get camp set up.

These guys are so fucking weird, but why…fuck, I kind of miss them, and they haven’t been gone for half an hour. I heard a wolf howl in the twilight, and got a bit nervous. I hope they get back soon.

[…]

***

July 22nd

Another wet dream last night. Fuck, what the fuck is wrong with me? They’re the most intense orgasms I’ve ever had, and neither Saul nor Jim seem to care one bit. Once I wake up, they both just hold me close and…and they smell so good. Jim smells different than Saul, I’ve learned. There’s…this smell, like rust almost. It’s…thrilling in its own way too. I get hard again, while they’re cuddling me, and they suggest we all jerk off to relieve some pressure. I haven’t jacked off with guys since college in the frat, but I don’t object. I end up huffing Saul’s pit stink and stoking harder and harder while they both urge me on, and I cum again, another massive load–and then Jim is licking it off my belly, and his tongue feels too long in the dark, Saul snorting and huffing as he jacks his own cock, and the smells intensify suddenly, like something…changed, and I fall back asleep again not long after that, exhausted.

[…]

The guys have been teasing me relentlessly, and so I’m finally hiking naked with them, in just my boots. I thought it would be weird, but it’s actually…kind of nice. I can see a cliff face rising in the distance. The guys say we’ll reach the cave tomorrow morning or afternoon, depending on our pace. They’re…excited. I can smell it on them, and they’re quiet now. Quieter, I guess. I don’t know how I can tell really, it’s strange. I can smell…a lot of things better out here, somehow. Like the air is just clearer. I haven’t seen a jet trail all day, I just realized. The sky is so blue.

[…]

I feel like something must be happening to me, but I don’t even really know how to explain it. It started earlier today, as he hiked, we passed…something. A threshold. But the air got so much…brighter. Not light bright, but crisp somehow. I don’t know how to even write this. Saul and Jim seemed to sense it too, and…and they smelled different too, more pungent sure, but also…I don’t know, it’s so hard to describe what I’m feeling, and that’s not even the craziest thing honestly. I was going off to take a leak, and then Jim comes right beside me and grins. It was kind of like that night a few days ago. I don’t know how to make this sound…not crazy, or freaky, or whatever, but it wasn’t. It was…natural, somehow. He started pissing before me, and the smell from it hits me and then everything got foggy, like I can’t think, just observe. He pushed me down to my knees and started pissing all over me. And that smell covered me and I got rock hard. He circled around me and covered me and I just sat there and took it and loved it. I started jerking off and he kept going. He finished and shook the last few drops on me and I blew my load right there and I just fell over, not able to think, just experiencing it. Saul came over and they both lied down beside me, saying things that I didn’t fully understand. Something about being “marked”? I think. I just felt such affection for them. I know it’s gross and disgusting and wrong, but I loved every second of it. I think I love them. What’s wrong with me? Why is all of this happening?

***

July 23rd

We got to the lake–it’s beautiful. Fuck, they weren’t kidding, everything out here is damn pristine. I thought about Tasha this morning, and realized it was the first time I’d thought about her since two days ago, with the whole tent thing. I haven’t missed her, I don’t want to share this with her. But I’m so…fucking glad I met Jim and Saul. I feel…fuck, love feels like a stupid word for a couple of guys like them, but what else do I say? There’s something between them–something deep. I feel like they’re doing something to me. Drawing me in with them into the same bond. I feel closer to them than I have to anyone in my whole life, and…and now that I’m here, I don’t know if I want to leave, you know? I just…forgot to put on clothes this morning, just my boots, all three of us just walking around naked now, like a pack of idiots, or animals, or whatever. 

[…]

They have something planned for us at the cave this evening, I think. They keep whispering between each other, and looking back at me and smiling. It’s…kind of a hungry smile. But I trust them. Maybe I shouldn’t, but I don’t think I could help it now.

***

The following entries are undated. All of them were entered after the 23rd, The first several are likely from the following few weeks. Much of the handwriting is large, like Peter was writing with a hand not used to holding a pen.

[…]

Fuck it wasn’t a dream it wasn’t a fucking dream, I don’t fucking, how could any of that have fucking happened I don’t

[…]

I gotta write it down, I gotta write it. Just get it out, what I remember.

So we got to the cave. The place is huge, just…like a big worn out hole in the wall of the cliff, that also goes deep. We go down, and as we go, there’s these torches, and Jim and Saul know where everything is, like they’ve been here more than once. The cave is sloping down, and we come to a sizable underground lake where rainwater must have pooled for ages. But on the shore, all around us, are all of these…artifacts. 

I don’t really know what happened next exactly. There was something in my lunch–I thought it was just disagreeing with me, but I think…it was a drug. Something they gave me. I was floating, and everything swimming a bit. Saul had been supporting me down into the cave, and now he led me over to this stone slab and laid me down on it, and fuck, I thought they were going to kill me. I thought I was seeing shit then, when…Jim just fucking changed.

Fucking wolfman. He’s a fucking wolfman! I could hear his bones cracking, and all this grey fur sprouted all over him, a thick fluffy tail, and his fucking teeth, his eyes. I realized why he smelled like rust, why he was such a good snarer–and why he’d never let me see the rabbits before he cleaned them–because there would have been fucking fang marks on that shit. He was fucking hunting–as a wolf!

He’s looming over me, and Saul is too, except Saul is different also–though a bit…more human, I guess. His face–he looks like a boar. Short pig snout, these two long tusks thrusting out from his lower jaw, floppy ears. He has a short tuft of a tail behind him, his back covered with boar bristle. He’s just…huge, and thick–both of them are over six feet tall I think, and then they’re chanting, and…and Jim has this bear claw in his hand, a real fucking bear claw, and he drives it down into my chest.

It doesn’t hurt. I don’t even see blood–and the claw…it’s gone, like it just slid into my body and disappeared. I think I must be tripping, having some dream, but the more this is happening, the more I’m remembering my dreams from the last few nights, how…how I’d seen this happening. I knew what was coming next, could feel the power thrumming through me on the stone slab, Jim and Saul still chanting, the fires are so damn bright, and I start to change too.

I can feel it happening, but there’s no pain. If anything, it feels good, like the rush after you take a drug or something, this sudden euphoria as I watch my bones start to lengthen and shift, every part of me getting thicker, as a thick belt of black hair starts filling in across my body. My gut grows out into a solid mass, my shoulders so damn broad, and I open my jaw, almost like I’m yawning, but I can feel my face extending into a snout, tipped with a black nose, jaws full of fangs, my hands…are kind of human, but the nails are claws now. And I’m lying there, my cock harder than it has ever been, and still mostly human–though emerging from a sheath–and before I can do anything or even catch my breath, Saul is on it, sucking and licking at it, and I…roar? Moan? Something. I don’t know what these sounds are, but fuck it feels good.

Jim kisses me, and I can taste the blood now, and it’s making me hornier still. I…lose myself. Whatever they gave me, it’s only getting more intense, and I…I don’t remember much of what happened that night. I fucked them both, hard and rough, especially Jim. We…wrestled, and fought. Not serious, but I have a few bite marks, and I know I gave him a couple of scratches, before I topped him and…and I won, I guess.

Won is the wrong word. There’s nothing to win, but I showed…superiority. That’s the only way to explain it. I lumbered off into the woods in the early morning, terrified, unable to believe what I had become, what I was now, and…and I was starving. I stripped some berries off a bush and devoured them, I found a stream and…fuck, I just knew how to catch trout now, as they leapt out of the water and…I was so hungry. I caught more, I brought them back, and Saul and Jim had gotten some food for us as well, and we ate and…they told me everything.

[…] 

I belong here, with them. I see that now. They knew that as soon as they’d smelled me, back with Tasha. It took me so long to realize it. I’m an idiot. Such a fucking idiot. 

[…]

The second night, I decided to be better to them. Gentler, maybe. I…I lost control, I didn’t know what I was capable of, and…and honestly, I still don’t, but it was a test too–to see who was strongest. I’m…in charge, I guess. Jim was before, and he thought I would be under him, but he doesn’t resent me for it. It’s not…anything strict. It’s…complicated, and yet so obvious and simple at the same time. I wanted this night to be about them, and about…me gaining a bit of control back. 

Saul stood in front of me. His cock was short but thick and oozed precum. Fuck, his balls; they’re like two hairy oranges dangling between his legs. I used my coarse tongue on his nut sack and then started lapping the cockhead. Jim started to give me a rim job. Fuck, he knew exactly where to put that tongue of his. Saul snorted the whole time and tweaked his nipples. I gave the occasional satisfied growl. Between my ass getting eaten out, the taste of Saul’s pre, and his musky bush, I was leaking pretty heavily. Finally, his thrusts increased and he shot his load into my mouth. Where does it all come from? I mean, yeah, his nuts are huge, but even I couldn’t possibly swallow it all. I don’t think that I got half of it. I moved to start sucking Jim off, and I wanted Saul to rim me too, but he warned against it with his tusks. I later learned that he had once tried a rim job on Jim; Jim couldn’t sit down for a whole week. Instead, Saul licked my cock from below while I deep-throated Jim. His cock was longer than Saul’s and I had to work my tongue around it to get the whole shaft. I came at the same time that Jim did, covering Saul’s face. Jim happily went down and licked his face clean. And then we just laid back under the stars, snuggling each other. I don’t think I’ve ever been this happy.

[…]

They helped me change back to human. I look different. I’m me, but I’m not really who I was. I smell different. I’m hairier, bigger, maybe even older, but that’s harder to tell. Clothes feel awful–we all hate wearing them. Even being human is–it feels wrong now. It’s not who I am, it’s just a mask, but we don’t want to wear the masks. Jim and Saul left for the winter to avoid the cold, and it took them all Spring and Summer to get back here. This place isn’t…a place. It’s a feeling, and a smell. I don’t know if I really understand it, but we’re all afraid to leave again. If we don’t find our way back, we’ll be stuck, and we…I think about the human world, and I hate it. All of it. I always did, that’s why I loved hiking. But with the three of us, late in the season…we want to try. I don’t know if we’ll make it, but we have to at least try.

***

The entries become fewer in number. Most detail their life through the fall and into the early winter.

We bagged a fucking elk! I can’t believe it. We’ve got this shit down. Saul spotted it yesterday and we made a plan. Saul and I chased it down a ravine to Jim’s hiding spot. He took it down like a fucking boss! I did feel a little sorry for it, but Papa Bear’s gotta eat. Saul carried it back to the den (and I got to watch his muscles work the whole time). This thing’s gonna keep us fed for a good week at least. Afterwards, we decided to have some fun, I was so ready. I stuck my nose right into Saul’s rank pit and came right there on the spot. I even let Jim fuck me, he deserved it. He was more than willing to eat me out right afterwards too. Fuck, that tongue of his. Saul blew his load down my throat and we all snuggled for a little while after in my den. Do we got this winter thing? Do we all shit in the woods?

[…]

Why did I read that last entry? So hungry. Did we catch that elk a month ago? I think? Things haven’t been good. The ground’s too frozen for Saul to dig out any tubers. I can still catch a few fish, but a lot of the streams have frozen over, and it gets old, nothing but fish. Even Jim can’t catch that much, just one or two rabbits every couple of days. It’s not enough. And those fucking squirrels! They know how to stay just out of reach. Even Jim can’t catch them. I got within a couple of inches of one and I swear the little fucker flipped me off,. I’m pretty sure he flipped me off. I’m gonna bite that squirrel’s fucking face off.

[…]

We finally bit the bullet. We left the cave and the lake, and came back, down the mountains, and into town. Jim managed to find a cruddy apartment in town where the landlord wouldn’t ask too many questions. It’s not much, but we’re together. And we don’t mind the cold, so we just keep the heat on enough to keep the pipes from freezing. It’s been rough though, getting used to…people again. Jim and I managed to get jobs at the general store, even in the slow winter months, and the work is a distraction at least. It’s been harder on Saul. It’s difficult for him to go out in public. He can shower, but he’ll start stinking again in about an hour. Of course, I don’t mind, but he gets nasty looks if he gets too close to people. He’s been shovelling sidewalks for cash, and other odd jobs like that, but I think he misses home more than both of us. Jim and I go to the bars, just the two of us; I feel guilty about it, but Saul insists. He doesn’t want us to stay in just because of him–though we stay in more often than not. Getting drunk…well, we’re so big it takes a whole fucking lot, and we also tend to, well, lose control. It’s best if we…stay inside, together.

[…]

I just feel like such a fucking failure. They don’t want me to take it too hard, winter is…rough, but I feel like I failed them. I’m…I’m the leader, somehow, and they trust me, and I did my best, and we all agreed to come back, to change back, but now here we are, back with the people, and we all hate it so much. I can already smell the lake slipping away, moving away, god, if we don’t find it again come Spring, fuck. We aren’t meant for this world. The only time we can transform is when we’re in bed together. Even then, we can’t do everything we want. We want to make all of the noises, all of the growls and roars and howls and oinks and squeals and grunts and fucks that we fucking want to. I start to think that we should have just stayed out there, even if we starved to death. I can’t do that to Saul and Jim though. I need to figure something out. If we can get more people, we can get more skills, more hunters, more foragers, more contributors. I don’t think I can do this again.

[…]

I almost forgot about this journal. It’s been spring about a month now, and compared to being trapped in town, it’s like heaven. We ripped each other’s clothes off the moment we got far enough into the woods. And then we went at each other. I may have been a little too rough with them. I’m hoping Saul doesn’t get scars from those claw marks. But what do you expect, we’d been cooped up for what seemed like forever. Now we just have to find that damn cave again, just have to get home again. I…can almost smell it, maybe. I sniff along, but it leads me…to people, other hikers. Jim says it was the same with him–that I smelled like home somehow. Maybe…I think I have an idea, on how to get home. We met an older fellow, loves hiking and the woods, he smells so…strongly of it, and I can smell it through him, somehow. He was easy really, and he wants to see the cave himself…and I know we can get there, all of us together. With him. He’s the key, just like I was the key.

***

The final entry is the only newer entry that is dated.

June 7th, 2018

We can’t go back. We don’t want to go back anymore, but we can’t avoid it for now. But you–if you find this, you know what happened. Maybe you even feel the pull of it. You could find us too, if you want. If this is something you want. We…don’t want to go back to the world you know, and if you’re out here, you probably don’t either. You could come here though, join us. Trust your nose. Follow the trail–just do what comes naturally. We’re waiting for you, all of us. Come play, come live.

***

Further Notes

The journal was found on June 10th by two hikers who returned it to authorities when they left the trail. Both of the hikers were women. During their interrogation, both of them described a sensation of repulsion at the journal and it’s contents, mostly due to the way it smelled. Both of them, however, had heard of Peter Bishop’s disappearance, and brought the journal to town for the sake of evidence. When asked to describe this smell, one of them said, “It smells like a bear pissed all over it or something, it’s disgusting.” Most women describe a similar reaction. Men, however, find the scent mild, and somewhat intoxicating. A smaller number of men have a more troubling reaction, especially when exposed to object 4610-12-B.

4610-12B is a scrap of cloth that was stuffed in the back of the journal, between the last page and the back cover. It has been determined to be from a set of soiled underwear. Samples taken indicate it is predominantly soiled with sweat, urine, and semen. The scrap of cloth is classified as a class one contaminant. Access to it for further study is limited to level 5 access, and then, only permitted for women, who seem to remain immune to the contamination, though access is still highly discouraged. 4610-12B has been associated with five other missing persons cases, including two researchers. PPE and psychological supervision required for access.

Attempts to locate the Peter, Jim, Saul, and cave itself in the mountains have been unsuccessful. Various reasons have been posited, and you can see supplemental findings from these expeditions in files 4610-13 through 16. For details surrounding the disappearances of those exposed to the journal or the cloth, see files 4610-6 through 10. A full transcript of the journal’s entries can be found in file 4610-3.

Commission: Serving the Cloth 2

Brett liked to run. He’d always been good at it, even when he was younger, running from cops through the streets. But he’d always felt like there was somewhere he had to run to, or something he was running from. Now though–he was just running. Running through this nice suburban neighborhood, running without really feeling like there was anywhere to go, running in a circle, starting at Regis’ sizable house, and ending right back at that sizable house again, an hour later, sweaty and exhausted, but not feeling like he had gotten anywhere.

He had, of course. He’d gotten here. He’d leveraged his body, and his wits, and his charm, and he’d gotten out. Here he was, twenty years old, slender and lean, cute face, good hair, a perfect little twink for older men to slather over–but he’d caught one. From whoring himself out on street corners, to settling down with a sugar daddy like this–it was everything he’d wanted, right? But then why did he hate it so much? Why was he feeling so miserable? He had money, a credit line, could whatever he wanted. The sex was…sex. He had never really felt much for anyone, and Regis was no exception–but over the last few months, things had gotten…harder. Regis had been so excited about moving him into his place, promised him the world–but it was really just a gilded cage. He was so controlling, and outright abusive at times. It was easier being on the street, in some ways. He was comfortable here–but for how long, really? He could tell already that Regis was tiring of him, and as much as he hated it, it hurt. It hurt, because while Brett had been using him to get out of there, he’d also…loved him, in a way. Loved a version of him. Loved what he could provide him with–safety and security. Regis was away on a business trip right now, and they’d had such a fight when he’d left a few days ago, that Brett was not looking forward to him coming home tomorrow. He thought about just running–taking what he could, and just…be gone. Maybe.

He probably would have talked himself into it that day, if he hadn’t run past that house. The haunted one, he thought, though haunted houses weren’t real, of course. All of the houses in the neighborhood were a bit…odd, but this one was especially odd. No one had lived in it consistently for ages now–it was either left empty, or someone would buy it, and then…well, no one really knew what. Brett had seen haunted shit before–the back alleys of the city were full of places like that, where you could feel the souls of people in anguish. This place was like that, and he usually avoided it, and took the long way around. However, he wasn’t focused on his route, and so he was already running past it before he realized where he was. The same car was parked out front, in the same place, where it had been for weeks. He’d seen a father and son pull up a few weeks ago, looking like they were going to overhaul it and flip it, but he hadn’t seen them since. Today though, something had changed. There was a bunch of detritus on the lawn–old clothes, actually, filthy looking stuff, and one of the windows on the upper floors was broken out, like someone had thrown everything out of it. Brett picked up his pace, but then he heard…something.

He picked up the pace, eager to be past it, but all the way home, he had a curious sense that he was being followed, by someone or something. He got to the garage of Regis’s place, unlocked the door, when something slammed into him, sending him stumbling through the doorway and onto the pavement inside.

He awoke a few moments later, and rolled over, looking around for who, or what, had slammed into him–but there was nothing around him. Cautiously, he stood up, locked the door, and listened…but he didn’t hear anyone or anything inside the house. Or…or was there something? A voice?

You don’t have to run anymore.

Brett nearly jumped out of his skin. The voice was so close, almost inside his ears, and yet seemed so…quiet, a whisper recorded and played back at an impossibly loud volume. Then, he felt something squirm under his running shorts, and in a panic, he dropped them–and saw that instead of his usual briefs–there was a rancid looking jockstrap that had somehow materialized under his clothes. Worse, he could feel the pouch…moving, groping him. It was unsettling, and yet…also arousing, and he groaned a bit.

You want things. We want things. Others…waste. We don’t want to waste, We want to help…

Brett looked down and saw that something was happening to his running shorts too–they were…beginning to squirm as well, the orange nylon darkening, becoming a light denim cut off short, ones that smelled as rank as the jockstrap he had on smelled in the enclosed space of the garage…but he didn’t mind it, did he? Brett groped himself with one hand, torn between trying to understand what was happening, and simply…wanting to enjoy it. The change was spreading to his tanktop now, becoming a simpler, ribbed wifebeater…and Brett pushed back. He hauled the clothes off of him–all of them, his shoes too, and hucked them across the garage into a pile, and stood there, naked and breathing heavy…but the smell wasn’t going away. He looked down, and saw that his…cock and balls had changed. He’d never been well endowed, in all honesty, but that had changed substantially–his cock was now close to eight inches long, as thick as a beer can, and had a long, wrinkled foreskin around the head. His balls, too, were massive–and his usually hairless crotch was seething with a riot of curly black hair. 

“What…what the fuck did…how did that…” Brett looked up in time to see the clothes had stood up, of their own accord, and were crawling, rolling and hopping into the house proper. His sneakers were the last, shuddering as they changed into a pair of heavily worn work boots, and they stomped off after the other clothes.

What could he do? He didn’t have anything to wear. He couldn’t call the cops and complain about living clothing. Regis wouldn’t be home for another day. He had no friends he could call. It…was up to him. He cautiously stepped into the house, listened, and heard the clothing on the stairs, and he followed them up.

Come here, follow us…

Was he hearing voices, or was it his own head? Brett didn’t know for sure. He also was no longer certain that following this…weird shit was the smartest thing he could do…but when he tried to turn around and go find a weapon downstairs…his feet wouldn’t stop climbing.

Up here, we have so much to show you…

–He should run, he should be running he had to run he had to run–

You don’t have to run anymore.

The thought struck him hard. Not having to run–what would that be like? He’d been running his whole life now, it was ingrained so deep inside him, that he didn’t know what it would even be like to…not do it. To plant his feet. To stay. He was at the top of the stairs now, one hand still on his now massive, uncut cock. He missed the feeling of that nasty jock now, how it had caressed him, how it had loved him. It had loved him, his body, in a way nothing else had. No one else had.

He was making his way to the bedroom now. He pushed open the door, the voices louder now, but…but more than just loud. There were more of them. All of them speaking differently, and yet at the same time, amplifying each other, louder and louder and firmer. He saw now, what was happening. The jock, the shorts, the boots and the socks and the wifebeater–they had found their way to the closets and were pulling out the clothes they found there, touching them, changing them, and throwing them into a pile in the middle of the room, a seething, warping…mass, and Brett stood there, gaping at it. 

Let us love you we love you, we will love you

The mass threw itself at him, surrounded him, absorbed him. The smell was intense and impossible to avoid, but it…it was his smell. They were his clothes, after all, weren’t they? The jock was on him again, groping him, and more, so much else, but he couldn’t breathe. There wasn’t enough air, and as he blacked out, the last thing he heard was:

No more running, you’ll be a man who doesn’t run from anything or anyone ever again.

***

Brett wasn’t sure how much time had passed, when he came to again. The light coming from the window hadn’t changed–it couldn’t have been more than a few minutes, but he felt like he had slept for ages. He groaned, and pushed himself up from the floor onto his hands and knees, got his feet underneath him, and forced himself upright. His head ached–his whole body ached, really, but his head hurt the most. The voices were there and so loud–it was difficult to try and parse apart into anything meaningful. They also…didn’t seem to be from outside him anymore–they were in him. In his mind. Or they were his mind, digging in and pushing out anything that wasn’t right, that old him that…that other him. He turned, still a bit wobbly on his feet, saw himself in the mirror, and just…stared at himself, at what the clothes had done to him.

The clothes he was wearing weren’t his clothes, or Regis’s clothes either. Neither of them had anything like this in their wardrobe. Somehow the jockstrap had…changed them into this. He was wearing a wifebeater under a leather vest, both of them looking like they’d been worn for years, and not cared for particularly well. On his legs were a set of leather chaps, biker boots, and under them a pair of filthy looking jeans–though he could only judge that by the crotch, which was more yellow-brown than blue at this point. But him–underneath the clothes. That couldn’t be him, it just…it couldn’t.

He was huge–easily a few inches over six feet tall, broad shouldered, thick pecs, massive muscular arms covered in a riot of tattoos–and over those, a thick layer of hair. His face though–that was the worst part. He’d been handsome before, even beautiful. His face had gotten him out of poverty, further than even his body could have, and now, he was…ugly. A wide mouth and nose, a heavy brow, a thick black beard a couple inches long and growing high on his cheeks, a scar across one side of his face, brown eyes staring out at himself. He was…fuck, he looked like a brute. He felt like a brute, and the voices, they wanted him to like it, they wanted him to enjoy this, but all he could feel was horror.

He started trying to pull the clothes off of himself, but they fought him, refusing to budge. He could hear the voices starting to panic, shouting louder, so loud he had to scrunch up his eyes and clasped his massive, calloused hands over his ears in an effort to clock it out, but nothing worked. 

You want to be a real man, you want this. You want to stop running, be the kind of man who doesn’t run. 

He could feel them rummaging through his mind and his memories, trying to find something else to use against him, and they found Regis, and suddenly, he was all he could think about. How…how angry he was at him for being such a manipulative and abusive asshole. He’d never been this angry at him before in his life, but the voices were amplifying it, intensifying it, making it the only thing he could feel.

We’ll fix him. We’ll fix him for you, we’ll make him love you, we’ll pay him back for everything he did to you just let us in let us in and let us stay stay with us stay keep us on live in us we live in you and we’ll fix you and fix him and

Something broke. Something in his head broke, and Brett just stared at himself in the mirror for a moment, the voices quiet…and then he said, in a voice not quite his own, but one…better than his last one. “I’ll fix him…” It was low and gruff. It sounded mean. He liked it. He liked being mean. “Yeah, I’ll fucking fix him real fucking good, we’ll fix him, fuck yeah…” He hauled his cock out of the front of his jeans and started jacking off, thinking about Regis now, so many cruel, mean, nasty ideas, and all…all he had to do, was listen. Stop thinking so hard, just…just do what the voices told him to do, and everything would work out just fine. He lumbered over to the remaining mass of clothing piled in the middle of the room, looming over it, jacking harder now, and he came with a groan–a massive load of cum splattering all over the clothes there, drying instantly, and Brett felt much better. No more running. No–he would…wait here. Some planning to do of course, some preparations had to be made, but Regis…Regis would love him, really love him. He would fix them both for good.

***

Regis was fuming as he climbed out of the uber parked on the sidewalk in front of the house, went around to the trunk, and hauled his luggage out. That fucking boy–he knew he was supposed to pick him up from the airport today, one fucking job to do, and he couldn’t even do that properly! He’d even done him the courtesy of texting him that morning, but he hadn’t even been checking those apparently. Regis straightened himself out a bit, and braced himself. He’d settle this–that boy was out, as of today. He didn’t care where he went, or with who–this had been a mistake.

Brett had been charming, when they’d first met. But then, Regis had paid him to be charming, and Brett had known what was good for him. The sex had been great too, of course, and Regis had stupidly tricked himself into thinking that this one might be different. He might be worth bringing home. But as the months had worn on he’d grown bored of the boy, the allure of him standing on the street corner dashed when you could have him whenever you wanted him. Regis had been seeing other boys of course–on the trip he’d fucked two just yesterday, and they’d been better and more interesting than Brett by a mile. Yes–he was done with him. Go in there, throw him out on his ass, and pretend that none of this had ever happened. It was for the best, really. At least for him–but then, Regis generally only cared about what was best for him.

He was in his fifties, and not exactly the most handsome man to grace the earth. He was short, and pudgy–a little top heavy really, with a fat chest and gut riding on small legs. He was balding badly but didn’t put much effort into either hiding the fact or embracing it. He had a mustache, and usually a bit of stubble around his face. His looks had never mattered to him, not when he could grease his path with money–and that had served him well enough. 

He walked up the drive and in through the front door–and there was the first sign that something was amiss. There was a smell in the house–something…heady and musky and certainly human but also…not. There was also no sign of Brett anywhere–he’d hoped the boy would have enough sense to at least beg for forgiveness–it would make it that much more satisfying to throw him out. But there was…nothing. No one. He shut the door behind him and set his bag by the door, and called out–but no one replied. The smell grew…more intense though, and then he heard the sound of boots on the hardwood floor, and someone came around the corner.

Regis had no idea who the massive fucker was, standing there in those filthy clothes and all of that leather gear, leering at him. “Hey daddy,” the stranger said, “Glad to see you made it home in one piece.”

The voice…it couldn’t be. It was too deep, and yet…something about it rang familiar. “I…I don’t know who you are, but I will call the police and have you arrested.”

Before Regis could even make a move to grab his phone, however, the man charged him, slammed into him and pinned him back against the door. Now he knew where the smell was coming from–it was coming from him. It wasn’t just him though–it was the clothes…and this close to him, he could feel them…squirming against him like they were alive, the man just staring at him with his eyes, slightly vacant, but the erection pressing against Regis’s gut was very much eager and excited. Regis was frozen for a moment, before he managed to shove the massive man away–he was so large, that Regis was sure he only stepped back because he wanted to–not because of Regis’s shove. The man was just leering at him, groping his crotch and the massive bulge there, and Regis realized that the strange writhing sensation was still there–because his own clothes were…shifting.

He looked down, and saw that a multitude of stains were spreading across the front of his white dress shirt, and he quickly tried to pull it off–but the fabric fought him, the buttons disappearing under his fingers as the shirt sealed down the front, the fabric shifting from the expensive cotton he always wore to something far cheaper, his suit pants changing similarly, becoming rougher, and dirtier, becoming ragged denim–even as a voice started speaking in his mind, a voice he didn’t recognize–more forceful and powerful that the brute’s had been.

Down, down piggy, such a good little dirty piggy daddy yes go down down hands and knees before him before us before your masters

He tried to speak, but as he did, the tie he had on constricted suddenly, choking him, making him gargle and snort for breath. Brett just watched as his daddy’s fancy suit began to assume it’s new form–a cheap, threadbare t-shirt, covered with all manner of food stains with several holes in the front and under the armpits. The pants turned to denim, and started to grow up–his belt becoming denim as well and looping up over his shoulders, completing the new set of filthy overalls, his suit coat picking up color, a checkered pattern, turning to a flannel vest–the sleeves disintegrating before his eyes, the tie turning dark brown and becoming a thick leather collar cinched tight around his daddy’s throat. He clawed at it for a moment more, and then he fell to his knees, and the collar loosened, allowing him to gasp for air, snorting for it really, the voice louder in his ears, telling him what a good obedient pig he was, what a good slave he was going to become for his new master.

Brett stepped up, grabbed his pig by the hair, and dragged his face into the crotch of his filthy jeans, forcing the pig to snort in his stench now, the voice urging him to breath it in, lick it, taste his masters, taste the filth, serve the man, serve the cloth, serve them all–they would both serve them so well now, serve them well forever.

“I’m not running anymore, you fucking piece of shit,” Brett said, hocking a wad of spit right in Regis’s face, “You’re going to do exactly what I say, from now on–got it? You’re just my fucking pig, and…and yeah, fuckin’ hell, you’re gonna be so fucking hot, fuck–come on pig, let’s go play.”

Brett walked to the basement door and went downstairs, leaving Regis there, spit running down his face, more humiliated and disgusted than he’d ever been in his entire life…but it was too late, wasn’t it? The voices were already inside him. He was so much less resistant, so much more…pliable. As he crawled towards the basement, his body sagged heavier, more and more fat piling on him, the cloth growing to accommodate his new size, even as his cock shrank down. He didn’t need a big cock, not that it had ever been large to begin with. But he needed a pig cock, short and thick and always leaking. He crawled down the stairs, and when Brett saw him, more changes had appeared–a thick beard all over his face, growing longer by the moment, all of it a filthy off-white. He walked around his pig, found the convenient hole in the ass of his new pig’s overalls, and the nasty, unwashed briefs underneath, unleashed his cock, and rammed it into the pig’s hole, listening to him snort in excitement as his master fucked him for the first time of many, his own mind draining out his cock and soaking the front of his overalls in cum–and piss soon enough, the pig losing total control of his bladder, soaking his clothes and the concrete floor under him in it–though a number of filthy garments crawled out from the dark corners of the basement and soaked up every drop they could find. Yes, these two would feed them well, but the cloth would be smarter here–smarter than the cloth over in the other house, who simply devoured mindlessly. They would be careful, feed from them, and lure others, yes, already, Brett knew what he would do, what this pig would do for him. He hauled his cock free, and unloaded his cum all over the clothes swarming them, feeding them, the pig whirling around and sucking the last few drops from the cheesy head of his master’s cock, already eager for more–rough fucks, piss, anything it’s master wanted, the filthier the better, the pig would do anything to be with him, anything at all. He loved him, loved him so much he could barely stand it.

But the pig also had work to do–he understood that. Brett would find the men–online sometimes, or more often in person. Entrance them with his own powerful musk, but bring them home with him, tell them that he had a sex pig willing to do anything for anyone. Sure, once the men caught sight of the massive, old, hairy, stinking pig, some of them had second thoughts–but not for long. The cloth would swarm them, show them the error of their ways, and usually the men would leave with a brand new wardrobe different than what they had arrived in–more than willing to come back and feed the pig–and the cloth–whenever they could. Yes, this way they would survive–no, more than survive. They would thrive.

Adventures of a Himbo Daddy

I’m open for commissions from now until the end of September! If you have an idea that you think would make a good short story idea like this one, you can find more details here!


Fuck, why did Nick have to go and make things so complicated? That’s what William kept asking himself every time he got home from work and climbed out of his car, and saw Nick’s bike by the garage looking like its tires need inflating, or saw Mary–his next door neighbor and Nick’s mom–working on something that he could have helped her with–as good neighbors ought to do. 

Mary and Nick had lived next door to William and his family for years now–Mary had moved in after divorcing her asshole of a husband, ditching him on the other side of the country, where he probably belonged. William was married to his wife, June, and they had two girls, but William had always wanted a son. Nick had been lonely, and hadn’t had a decent father figure in his life, so William had, well, helped out. He’d made sure that the boundary was always there between him and Mary–but she never seemed that interested in an affair anyway. This was confirmed a few years down the road, when Mary introduced him to one of her girlfriends–not that there was anything wrong with that, of course! Nick had glommed onto him something fierce though by that time, and for quite a few years, William was happy to be his neighborhood step-dad–coaching him in sports, helping him with his bike or his scooter, giving him “the guy talk” when Mary asked him to one evening. 

But things had taken a complicated turn in the last few weeks. Nick was eighteen now, heading off to college in the fall. The two of them had been alone in the garage one evening, celebrating Nick’s graduation with a beer William had slipped him, when Nick confessed something–well, two things, really. First, that he was gay. And two, that he was in love with William.

William didn’t have anything against anyone gay, and honestly, he’d sort of suspected it of Nick, since the boy had never seemed that interested in girls, but when the eighteen year old tried to move in on him…well, he’d put that down fast–though as gently as he could–and Nick had refused to speak to him since. William didn’t want to tell his mom either (or his own wife), so the wound was just sitting there and festering. They’d had plans that summer–a few weekend camping trips up into the mountains for some fishing before he left for school–but it looked like things were going to stay cool for a while. Heartbreak was a bitch sometimes, even if you weren’t the one in love.

It was a Saturday afternoon, one of the rare moments in the week where William had the house to himself, that he heard a knock on the door. He opened it up, and there, on the stoop, was a small package addressed to him–he recognized the writing as Nick’s. He looked around, but his neighbor had already vanished–so he brought the package inside, wondering what this might be all about. Hopefully nothing trying to get William to have sex with him–then he really would have to have a chat with his mom about…boundaries. He tore off the brown wrapper, opened up the box inside, and grimaced. It was, apparently, as he feared–inside the box was a pair of underwear.

He picked them up, and received an odd little shock from them as he did–he assumed it was static. They were…risque, to say the least. Electric blue, the pouch was a see through mesh, and the ass–well, he wasn’t quite sure how the three straps were supposed to work, but it looked like, well, a jockstrap, almost. A really sexy jockstrap. He wondered, for a moment, what June might think of him in it–William was almost 50, and sliding gently into a dadbod–small beer gut, flabbier arms than he’d had when he was younger, though work at the factory kept him in almost decent shape, though he had a few more aches and pains than he would have liked. His physique wasn’t nearly good enough to flaunt this thing though. Still, there was something poking at the back of his mind, a…curiosity? More of an urge. What could it hurt, really? 

He went upstairs to his bedroom, stripped down naked, and pulled them on. It took him a few tries to get his legs in the right holes, but finally he managed, and he pulled them up around his waist, and chuckled. They did not look good on him. His ass was way too flat, and his bulge…well, it wasn’t quite sizable enough to fill out the very large pouch the underwear had. But as he watched, there was another shock–this one larger, and he felt something happening. His bulge started to swell, his cock growing to eight, then nine inches long–and his balls swelling as well. He turned around and saw that his ass was inflating as well, two globes pushing out the back of the underwear, each one framed perfectly by the straps in the back, with the middle sliding between the two perfectly and resting on his crack, making him shiver. William gasped in horror–and went to pull down the underwear, only to discover he couldn’t get them off, no matter how hard he tried.

“They look good on you, Daddy, just how I hoped they would.”

William whirled around, and found himself facing Nick, standing in the doorway to his bedroom. “Nick! What the fuck are you doing in here?” Nick had a key to the house, of course, but…wait, had he planned this? “Help me get these things off, now.”

“No daddy, I don’t think so,” Nick said, and dropped the backpack he was carrying onto the floor. “See? We could have had a good thing, but not…a long term thing, I see that now. You would never leave this life of yours, not for me, not being…who you are now. But I thought–why not change you? See, my mom…she knows people. Witches. She’s one herself, actually. She loves me–and she wants me to be happy. She helped–but then, she had her own reasons I think. After all, her and June, they’ve been fucking for ages now–did you not realize that?”

William just starred at him, unable to piece together the nonsense that had just come out of Nick’s mouth. Witches? Magic? The news of his wife’s affair barely even registered to him.

“I just want us to be happy, daddy. You don’t see how miserable you are–but you could be so much better! I want you to be better, you’ll see. Show me that ass–I mean, look at it, it’s divine. A huge cock too! What guy doesn’t want a huge cock?”

“Nick…Please, please don’t do this, I don’t understand…” William was babbling now, trying to piece together everything, but it felt like the foundation of his world had been turned upside down in a moment. June having an affair? With Mary, who’s a witch? Who is helping Nick cast…some sort of spell on him? That just gave him a gigantic dick and a perfect, fuckable ass?

Wait, fuckable ass?

William shook his head, and looked at his ass again in the mirror. It was perfect. He’d…fuck it himself, if he could.

“No no no…” William said to himself, “No, get the fuck out of my house, boy!”

“I’m afraid I’m the one calling the shots around here now, daddy–you have to put on the rest of your outfit–then we’ll get you right back out of it, I promise,” Nick said with a wink.

Nick picked up the backpack, and dumped the contents out on the floor around him, being careful not to touch any of it himself. There were two pink trainers with red socks, some lycra training pants–also in pink, with a red highlight. A pink muscle tank, and finally, a pink cap. All of it looked ridiculous–like something some, well, gay muscle hunk would wear. “I am not wearing any of that shit!” William shouted at him…but already, he could feel the clothes calling to him with the same spark of energy that the underwear had on him. Already, he was thinking about it, wondering what–no, who he’d look like, wearing all of that stuff. He’d…be an entirely different person. A whole new daddy, wouldn’t he?

Nick just stood back and watched as William stepped closer to the gear on the floor, as he bent down, and took the pink muscle tee first. There was another shock–and he could feel it resonating with the underwear, calming him down somehow. Everything was fine–he…he was supposed to wear these things. They were…made for him. The muscle tee had some writing on the front, the words “Butch Muscle Daddy” written in a curly, feminine font that made the whole thing a…study in contrasts. But it was too late, he’d picked it up, his arms were pulling it over his head and down onto his body. It was a tight fit–a size too small maybe, but it worked. He stared at himself in the mirror for a moment, and again, he felt the strange shift inside him–but this time, it was much more substantial.

His fat melted away, and muscle appeared instead. A lot of muscle. The shirt went from tight, to fitting easy, to tight again a moment later, as first his fat gut dissolved and his pecs expanded, pushing the fabric out so it actually hung slightly, touching his his shrinking gut, before it too disappeared, leaving a two pack that wasn’t half bad for a old gym rat his age. He flexed, watched as his arms bulged out as well, the size from working at the factory expanding larger, and also toning from years lifting weights…and damn, he looked good. Real good. His skin darkened as well to a deep tan, even as his body hair thickened a bit, growing a little thicker and denser on his forearms, down his chest and back. After all, he wouldn’t be much of a butch daddy if he didn’t have his body hair right?

Fuck, what was he thinking? He felt like he was going insane all of a sudden! These weren’t his thoughts–this was…something else. Why had he put this thing on? He needed to take this stuff off, right now, but then he saw the bright thong tan line around his crotch, only partly hidden by his favorite underwear, and he blushed, and looked back at the pile. He…he should cover that up, shouldn’t he? He grabbed the lycra shorts, and pulled those on too–they did nothing to hide his bulge, but then, why would he ever want to hide that? He loved how all the boys–and a few of the men–at the gym ogled him when he was walking around, bulge bouncing hypnotically. They all fucking wanted him, of course, he’d want himself too, if he could have him. His thighs and calves blew up just as his upper body had, bulging against the lycra, and he rubbed his hands on the fabric, shivering, feeling his cock starting to grow. “Fuck, I love the way I look in spandex, boy,” he said. His voice…was it deeper? But it also sounded different. Sensual, almost. A light lisp, but a playful one. It could make men melt–he knew that for sure.

“Of course you do daddy. I mean, it’s most of your wardrobe after all.”

That snapped William back for a moment, and he scowled at Nick. 

“What? Go look for yourself, daddy.”

William strutted over to the closet, opened the door, and discovered that Nick was right–all of his flannel, all of his jeans, all of his workwear–it was gone. Instead, it was just…his gym clothes, well, gym clothes and his club clothes too, of course. The singlets. The little strappy numbers. The thongs for the beach and the pool. Most everything was form fitted–aside from a few tastefully clever muscle shirts like this one, and not a sleeve in sight–just a couple of hoodies for the occasional rainy jog around the neighborhood.

But these weren’t his clothes. This wasn’t his life. “Alright boy, this is all very funny, and I do look like a hot fucking muscle daddy, I know, but you’re going to put me back right now, I fucking mean it,” he said to Nick, who just smiled at him, and pointed at the rest of the clothes on the floor. 

“You can take it all off, once you put it all on.”

Nick scowled at him some more, crossed his arms, but his gaze kept flitting to the shoes, and the hat. He was…still so dang curious, he couldn’t help himself. “Fine boy, have it your way.”

He grabbed the socks and trainers–and discovered they were…big. Bigger than his feet by quite a few sizes. Still, that hadn’t mattered for the other stuff, so he doubted it would matter here. He pulled on the socks, then the shoes, and stood up–but almost lost his balance as his feet started to grow–and then he started to grow too.

William wasn’t a tall fellow–just five foot nine, a little below average. But he shot up six inches in a matter of seconds, to six foot three. Everything about him broadened–especially his shoulders–and with the new height, the muscle tee went from being a little loose around his flat stomach, to being a tight crop top, showing off his whole belly–but then, he’d bought it specifically to show it off, of course. There was just one thing left now–the hat. He picked it up, and put it on his head–but this time, it was a different sensation altogether. He felt himself…falling into his mind, but not as the new self emerging–it was his old self, an aging factory worker named William, with a wife and two kids. William was falling away from consciousness, falling deep into the recesses of his mind–not erased entirely, but he found himself in a small box, barely enough room to breathe, or to scream–and outside, Billy was blinking to life. Billy, with his big, luscious lips. Billy with his short beard dyed platinum blonde. Billy with his head shaved bald. Billy, who wasn’t too smart, but he sure was a horny daddy–he turned around and saw Nick standing there–saw his boy standing there, his lovely, lovely boy who had made him, and he swept him up into his arms, picked him up like he weighed nothing at all, squeezed him, and kissed him deeply.

“Fuck son, your naughty himbo daddy is so fucking horny…” Billy moaned. 

“Well then get out of those clothes daddy, and let’s have some fun,” Nick said into his mouth.

Billy set his boy back down, and started peeling everything off–the hat, the shoes, the socks, the shorts, the tee–but Nick stopped him before he could get to the underwear. “Leave ‘em daddy, they’re so sexy on you…”

“Oh boy, whatever you say–you know I’ll do anything for you.”

Nick pushed his daddy backwards towards the bed, and Billy toppled back onto it. Nick climbed up on top of him, grinding his crotch into his daddy’s, still unable to believe just how…perfect he was. And he was his. All his. Nick knew this daddy would do anything for him, do anything he said. He’d never disappoint him, never. He was going to be absolutely perfect.

“What do you need daddy? What’s a horny himbo like you craving?”

“Fuck son, you know I need your boy cock in my dirty daddy hole,” Billy whimpered in his deep, sensual voice, and rolled over, grabbing the lube from the bedside table, where they kept it handy. Nick squirted some on his cock, butterflies in his stomach. It was his first time having sex, and it was with his perfect daddy, and he wanted it to be good, he wanted it to be perfect. Nick slid inside, and the sensation of Billy’s tight daddy pussy was enough to nearly make him cum, and Nick froze–waiting for the need to pass.

“That’s it boy, just relax–you’re doing great,” Billy moaned, “You’re gonna make daddy feel so good boy, so good…”

He picked up the pace slowly, Billy coaching him along, just like he’d coached him in baseball, just like he’d taught him how to fix a flat on his bike, just like how he’d shown him how to plant those squash in the backyard two summers ago. He was a great teacher, and Nick was eager to learn. Fifteen minutes later, they were both covered in a sheen of sweat, and Nick was pounding his daddy’s hole rough and hard, Billy urged him on harder, and with that Nick came–and as he did, they both felt the energy burst inside them, as the spell finished around them as well, sealing them, and this new reality, into place.

Nick rolled off him, and Billy pulled him close into his arms, telling his boy what a good job he’d done, fucking his daddy for the first time, how proud of him he was, and Nick cried a bit into Billy’s thick, hairy chest while Billy just held him close. William had been sealed away while the spell was finishing, but William…wasn’t sealed off anymore. William was gone, mostly, at least on the outside. He’d never existed now, but there were still pieces of him there. He still loved Nick, so much–and he was thankful, he was surprised to find. Thankful he could really love this boy like a son, and like a lover–and educate him in that way too–make sure that Nick became the best boy he could possibly be.

“Can…can you fuck me too, daddy?” Nick asked, “I’ve, I mean, tried with some stuff before, but–you would be my first.”

Billy put a finger to Nick’s lips. “I’m pretty big boy–you’ll need some practice. I have some toys though we could start with–I think you’ll like them, and I’ll like seeing you fuck yourself–getting ready for daddy’s big tool one day.” Billy hugged him close, and then rolled out of bed, and stretched, one hand grazing the ceiling. “Come on son–how about a workout? You’re not going to get as big as me wasting the day in bed–then later, we can have some more fun, what do you say?”

Nick thought that sounded great–and so he followed daddy down into the rest of their house that the spell had built for them–a bit surprised really that it had been so…all encompassing. There was a new pool in the backyard, a big spacious kitchen, a private gym, and down in the basement–he recalled, was Daddy’s playroom, too. It was a brand new life, and neither Nick nor Billy could wait to live it.

Interactive: The House Made Me Gay! (Part 3)

Taylor opened the box, and wrinkled his nose up at the smell coming up from it. It was…not pleasant. Did Mr. Woodrow even wash these clothes before bringing them over to him? It smelled like a locker room in the box, and Taylor started digging through the contents, confused about why his landlord would bring him stuff like this. It was all workout gear–and most of it made out of spandex of some sort. He thought about the workout room in the basement but he hadn’t used it once since he’d arrived–it wasn’t really his sort of thing. Taylor was thin and lanky, had never really been interested in sports or anything. Had Mr. Woodrow gotten the wrong idea or something about what he was doing here?

He dug down a bit deeper, and at the bottom, he found…something else. A leather vest, some leather straps, what looked like leather pants even. Some sneakers, and also some leather boots. The smell coming off them was pungent…but also a bit different. It was…a bit too much to think about, if this stuff had really come from Mr. Woodrow’s son.

The smell in the air was thick now, and Taylor wasn’t noticing it as much. If anything, now that he was more used to it, it smelled kind of nice. When he’d seen what was in the box, his first instinct had been to just toss it, but now…well, trying it on couldn’t hurt, right? It was just for some laughs after all, maybe a selfie to show the guys later, when they moved in. So he stripped down, and pulled on a well worn jockstrap, a set of spandex shorts and a spandex muscle shirt–both of them actually hanging a bit loose off his thin frame, even as small and stretchy as they were. How big was Woodrow’s son, that this stuff would fit him? Still, it did feel nice…and he’d never had fabric like this on before. It was…different, especially on his cock, which was feeling…electric, somehow. He groped himself, breathing deep, the scent sliding into him now, surrounding him, and he shoved his hand down into the front of the shorts and started jacking off, as mindlessly as he’d done when he’d found that underwear before.

He came, and with it, a mind blowing orgasm. He even whited out for a moment, and came too just in time to catch himself with the wall in front of him, and looked around, bewildered, a massive wet spot on the front of his workout clothes. What…had he been doing, anyway? Mr. Woodrow had come by to talk about some repairs…but had there been more to it? No–not that he could recall now. He saw the box on the table, with the leather gear inside it, but didn’t think about it–he just took it up to his room, and put the box deep in his closet, where he wouldn’t have to worry about it yet. That…that, was for later, something told him, and then he forgot about it, sat down on the bed, and pulled on his sneakers, excited for his workout.

Unknown to him, in the moment of that orgasm, all of his old clothes had disappeared–replaced instead by clothes of the same musky nature as these ones–mostly spandex, but a few basic muscle shirts as well. The fact that they were all still too big for him didn’t bother him–he…he was going to fix that. He went down to the basement and started his workout. A workout he had never done before in his life, but he lifted with perfect form like he had done it for years, and already, his muscles were tensing, and growing, bit by bit–but only Mr. Woodrow could tell at the moment.

He looked down into his scrying pool, pleased with the results. This one wouldn’t require any more work for a while, he would do just fine in time. He checked the calendar again, and saw that the next lodger would be arriving a bit earlier than expected–in another few weeks time. A young man by the name of Quinn. Plenty of time to get his room ready, in any case–and Mr. Woodrow sat back, and enjoyed the show of Taylor working out–his research project now secondary to a new one–building up his new body.


“Alright, so here’s the main rooms–you can set your luggage there for the moment,” Mr. Woodrow said, and continued the tour for Quinn. It was a couple weeks later now, early August, and Quinn came into town early both to escape his family, who was driving him nuts, and to spend some time with Taylor, who was one of his closest friends, before school started and they got sucked into their studies. The house was amazing–just like Taylor had said, and Mr. Woodrow seemed very nice as well. 

“Is Taylor around?” Quinn asked.

“I think he’s downstairs–he’ll probably come up…oh, I think I hear him.”

There was a thumping on what sounded like stairs, and the basement door opened, and Quinn’s jaw dropped. There Taylor was, but not…quite the Taylor he recalled. He was…getting buff. A few weeks down in the workout room had packed thirty pounds of muscle onto Taylor’s frame–enough that the spandex clothing he was wearing looked like it actually belonged on him. “Quinn!” he shouted, and pulled his friend into a musky hug–he reeked. Quinn tried to pull away, but the hug lasted…a bit too long, and Quinn was conscious that Taylor had pulled their crotches together too–and he could feel the outline of Taylor’s cock against his own. Then he released him, and Quinn was too confused to say much. Taylor said hi to Mr. Woodrow, and then went back down to continue his workout–while Mr. Woodrow picked up Quinn’s bag, and showed him to his room upstairs.

The room was nice–spacious, already furnished modestly. Mr. Woodrow told him to go ahead and unpack, and he’d leave him alone–and handed him the key to the house. Quinn was reeling, trying to process what he’d just seen…but as much as he wanted to talk to Taylor, his sudden change was…a bit much. Instead, he started unpacking and getting his room in order, but as he did, he discovered something odd…

What sort of magical trap has the landlord laid for Quinn in his room? As usual, you can vote for two options. If you support me on Patreon, you can find the bonus poll over here as well.



Caption: Max’s New ID Badge

Max was in his office, fuming and trying to concentrate. All day at the office, he’d been having just…nothing seemed right. Ever since…he’d gone to the basement and gotten his new ID card that morning, he just didn’t feel like himself, at all.

Sure, the picture…looked like him, but it wasn’t who he’d been when he’d walked in the building, somehow he knew that too. He’d been smaller, and younger, with a sharp haircut and a clean face. Now…he felt like some damn ape! He was thick, hairy all over, stringing together two sentences was hard, and every time his twinky little secretary passed by his office carrying a stack of papers…he couldn’t stop himself. He’d bend that boy over his desk and fuck his sweet little hole, grunting the whole time–he was beginning to suspect that the secretary was actually passing his door more often on purpose.

Now, he was trying to concentrate. It was getting harder and harder to remember he’d been different, but he was clinging to it as hard as he could–it had started with that new ID, he was sure of it somehow. He’d just go back down there and ask–it couldn’t hurt, right? So he left his office, stomping off down the hall to the elevator–he almost made it without incident, but he ran into Trent, the cumdump from floor eight–and the old fuck just looked so desperate for work, that he let the old pig suck him off in the elevator, as they rode down to the basement. The guy did good work–Max came by floor five, and when they reached the basement, Trent rode back up to find some more work to do.

It was late in the afternoon, and the crowd that had been down here earlier, getting new badges from the single photographer, was gone. It was a bit…eerie even. He found his way to the security station, and was waved back to see the photographer, who looked to be relaxing a bit, but perked up when Max came in. “Hi, uh, you did my security badge earlier, but…well, I don’t think it’s right…”

“Oh?” the photographer asked, and inspected it. “It looks like you–and your job title is Fuckape, right?”

“Yeah, I mean…I guess. But I looked…different before? I think? My heads a little confused I guess. I just…wanted to ask you.”

“Ah, yeah, I’ve been waiting to see who was more resistant–go one, stand over on the blue square, we can fix it right up.”

Relieved, Max stood back over the blue spot, smiled, and the man took his photo again. The badge popped out, and Max was relieved–this one definitely looked right. He stripped out of his clothes in the office, and accepted the new uniform the photographer handed him–it had turned out the job title was wrong too, but this one sounded better anyway, to him. Feeling happy he had made the trip after all, Max got down on his knees, drank down the photographer’s load of piss, then stood up and headed for his office again, on the twelfth floor.

Once there, he found his way to the bathroom, and sat down on his ass between the two urinals, and waited. It wasn’t long before a slew of other workers came in, feeding him loads of piss, soaking him down from head to toe–it’s a good thing his uniform was so bare, or his clothes would have been soaked! But this felt much more right–he knew he was meant to the the toilet bear of the twelfth floor–what other job for him could there possibly be?