Acceleration (Part 6)

It lasted nearly a full minute before it finally slowed and Russell could catch his breath, looking at the mess in front of him, unable to believe that all of that had really just come out of him. The smell of it was only making him horny again, and as he idly stroked his softening cock, he realized he could go for another round right now–and he was tempted to do so. No–no, he had to get a hold of himself. This was too much, why had he pressed that button again? Hell, twice more! It was stupid–now, he really was going to get dragged off to some laboratory for experimentation.

He ducked out from under the bathroom doorway, and the air was clearer there–slightly. It at least helped him think better, especially now that he shot his load, and like he’d suspected earlier…his mind really did feel sharper, somehow, though it was difficult to describe how, exactly. He focused on the problem at hand, and looked back down at the watch, seeing if there was something he had missed before on it. The device had recalibrated once more and was ready for another injection…and even if he was tempted, this was enough, wasn’t it? Yes, of course it was–still…he couldn’t help but imagine what he might look like after yet another dose…or two.

He needed to get this thing off of him, and he needed to do it now. He didn’t know if it was addictive, or what, but he couldn’t afford the temptation. He examined it, closer this time, and noticed a small recessed clasp on the inside of the band. It took some maneuvering with his thick fingers, but with a pop the watch came free and clattered the ground, where it shut off. Russell heaved a sigh of relief–that was over, at least. He picked up the watch and set it on the table in the hall, and considered the next problem–the big problem. What was he going to do now?

It was only a matter of time before his parents got home, and he had two choices–he could be here when they arrived, or he could run. But where would he go? It wasn’t like he was going to have an easy time finding a place to hide, looking like an eight foot tall gorilla staggering around the streets. He didn’t even have any clothes that would fit him, anyway. He had to stay, and hope that his parents wouldn’t…freak out. Well, they would freak out, but hopefully they wouldn’t call the cops or something insane like that. So, he just had to sit and wait–that was the best course of action by far.

His eyes flitted to the watch, still sitting on the table, and he looked away again. No–as much as he might…want to, it wasn’t safe. It was so far out of hand already. Hell, he didn’t even look like a person anymore–certainly not like a teenager by any stretch of the imagination, even if he did feel, in some ways, just like that old, small, frail version of himself from earlier in the day…and he hated that. Look at him! He was huge! He didn’t have anything to be afraid of, he didn’t have to be afraid of anything, and yet…he was afraid. He was afraid of that watch, and he was afraid of himself and this body, and he was afraid of what was going to happen to him, once his parents–once the world–found out about him.

But what if he didn’t have to be afraid? If he was bigger…he wouldn’t be afraid then, would he? What if he was so big, no one could stop him?

He shook his head, and looked away from the watch again. He couldn’t be big enough to outrun all of this, there was no way. Still, even if it couldn’t solve anything, there was no…denying how much he wanted to put that watch on, and press that button, and feel that…rush. It wasn’t an addiction. He didn’t need it. He wasn’t shaking, and he didn’t feel sick. No–he could admit that. He wanted it. He wanted to be bigger than this, he wanted to be bigger than everyone else, in the whole world. He…wanted to control it. He wanted men at his massive feet, cleaning them, sniffing his pits, sucking his cock, riding him, their guts distending with his massive loads. His cock was hard again, and he was stroking it slowly, head down near his pits, taking gentle snorts of his own musk. He could want it–that was alright. But he wasn’t going to do it. He told himself that, but wasn’t sure whether he believed it or not, in his head.

He was hungry though–hungrier than he could remember being before, which didn’t seem at all surprising. He went into the kitchen and found as many snacks as he could, and started gorging himself, anything to keep his mind off the watch, still sitting on the table there, when he heard the doorbell ring, and he froze.

Acceleration (Part 5)

It wasn’t mere horniness–he’d been horny before. Hell, being horny was the one aspect of being a teenager he’d ever been able to relate to. No–this wasn’t mere horniness–this was a raw, aching desire to fuck. He wanted to fuck someone–he wanted to fuck a man. He wanted to top them, and drive his massive cock into them–he wanted to feel them squirm, he wanted to…to dominate them. He looked at himself in the mirror and grinned, admiring the full pelt of hair coating his chest and torso now–and noticed that the abs he’d had before were hidden behind a slight gut now. It wasn’t much, really–but it looked good on him, and filled him out. Made him look more powerful and commanding.

The drug was clearing from his system now, and left him feeling clear headed, and sharp. It was like his entire brain was firing on all cylinders–he could feel…everything, but he…saw everything too. Like the entire world was laid out in front of him. Was the drug affecting his mind as well? If it was, it wasn’t hurting him by any means. He gripped his cock and imagined being back in that hallway at school–no, not in the hallway. He imagined being in that bathroom with Jack, shoving him against the wall, grinding this massive cock between his cheeks, making him beg for it before he fucked him long and deep, marked him as his, made sure everyone knew who was really in charge. He heard a beep come from his wrist–the watch had recalibrated again, and was flashing “Ready”. He knew what he wanted–he wanted more. He pressed the button, and shuddered as the drug flooded his system once again.

The fear was gone–he was anticipating it now. His muscles began to heat up once more, but they had already grown so much that the sensation wasn’t so much a pop, as a general swelling. They didn’t seem to be getting any larger, and yet, he could tell that they were growing stronger all the same. His skin, however, was showing signs of wear–he was growing too fast for it to keep up, causing stretch marks to appear all over him, especially across his chest and gut, which was growing fuller now, pushing out into a proper muscle gut, firm and covered in hair. He rubbed it and moaned, thinking about how good it would feel, having it rest on the small of a man’s back, which his cock was driving into the man’s ass. His bones were creaking again, growing thicker–stronger. He wanted…to punch something. Not to hurt it–he just wanted to see how strong he was. It was just–a need.

He looked at the wall beside him, and couldn’t resist–he wound up and slammed his fist into the wall. It didn’t even hurt–it was like wet paper to him, the drywall just crumbling around his hand. He pulled himself free, and aside from a few scraped knuckles, he was fine. The growth was slowing down already, which almost upset him, and he stood up, only to feel his head graze the ceiling of the bathroom.

Eight feet tall–it seemed impossible. He looked down at the room around him, and everything seemed so small and fragile. He lifted up the seat of the toilet with one of his thick hands, and could tell that, if he wanted to, he could snap the plastic with almost no effort at all. How much could he possibly weight at this point? There was a scale in the bathroom, under the sink. He crouched down and managed to haul it free, and stood on it–only for it to max out at 300 pounds. He was over three hundred pounds! It didn’t seem possible–but there it was, right in front of his face–well, under his feet at least, since his face was as far away from the scale as it could get. Looking down, he noticed his feet–how the heels were touching one end of the scale, while his toes were dangling off of it. They were massive, and covered with hair all along the tops, joining the pelt that started at his ankles and worked all the way up his body. The hair, at this point, was growing so thick it was difficult to see his skin in places. He ran his hands through it and shivered–it was almost as erotic as touching his cock. His beard was filling in, crawling up his cheeks, and growing longer–even as he noticed his hairline beginning to recede, two bald spots forming at the front of his hairline and pushing back.

Was he getting older? No–he didn’t look older, but whatever this process was, it was obviously affecting him in other ways, beyond the obvious. Still–he didn’t mind it. He looked mature, and dominant…and sexy. He was larger than Finn now–larger than any man he’d ever seen before in his life. He sniffed the room, noticing a rather sharp funk on the air, and it took him a moment to realize that it was him. He lifted an arm and sniffed at his pit, only to let off a low moan–almost guttural, it was so deep. He smelled…amazing. He leaned back against the wall, feeling it shudder slightly as he hit it, arm raised over his head, and pressed to the ceiling, and he kept sniffing, jacking his cock slowly with his other hand. Despite the fact that the shaft was larger than a two liter bottle, his own massive hand could still grip it easily–even if he couldn’t bring his fingers to touch around it by several inches. Precum started to flow, first a couple of drops, and then it began drooling from the head in copious amounts, pooling on the floor beneath him, adding to the musky scent of the bathroom. He stroked faster, grunting and growling, feeling more and more like a beast as he did, until his orgasm hit, balls contracting so hard it was almost painful, cum spraying from the head and spattering across the mirror in front of him, running down onto the counter as more and more gouted out from his cock.

Acceleration (Part 4)

He couldn’t risk it. He didn’t know what this thing was, or what it might do. Just because the button sent him through puberty the first time, didn’t mean anything about what might happen if he pressed it again. No–he needed to call someone, his parents, and get help. Once this thing was off him, then he could worry about what it was, and what it could do.

One of his fingers traced the button a moment, and then pulled away.

It had felt good though, hadn’t it? No–that was a lie, it had been painful as hell, but fuck, it felt good now, on the other side. He felt so strong, and alive–if this is what it felt like after using it once, then what might it feel like if he did it twice? Still it was too risky–besides, what might happen to him if he got another dose of…whatever that stuff was, after already getting one? There might be side effects, or hell, it might kill him, if he wasn’t careful with it.

His finger had gone back to fiddling with the button, and he didn’t pull it away this time, once he noticed.

He didn’t want to go back, to being who he was. If he went to the hospital, they would see this as something…as something wrong with him, but what, really, was wrong? All it had done was make him normal, after all. Well, not quite normal, he supposed. If anything, he still felt a little…short, and he wouldn’t mind being even hairier, and while the stubble was nice, now that he’d had time to look at it, it was coming in a bit patchy. He’d survived it once–and he wasn’t about to get another chance like this in his life.

He pushed the button in, and braced himself for the sharp stick of the needles, which again slid from the back of the watch into his wrist. He was ready for it this time, at least. Or, he hoped he was ready for it. He…still didn’t know what the button did, for certain. He’d been assuming that it would inject him with the same stuff as before…but what if it did something else? His heart was speeding again, throbbing in his ear–he flexed his forearm, and felt the muscle pop again–the growth wasn’t as obvious, on his now much more developed body, but it was still apparent. The rest of his arm followed suit, and now that he knew what to expect, it was easier–he could…ride it, the pain and thrill of it, feeling his body surge and expand all around.

The bone ache was still the worst of it, but he didn’t fall down this time, even if he needed a wall to keep himself steady. Even that, though, was better, and watching the room fall back around him, as he gained another foot in height–cresting near seven feet–he felt…amazing. Is this what Finn felt like all the time? He felt so powerful, looming over everything. He looked around the room, feeling almost drunk, one hand groping his chest, feeling the firm pectoral underneath his skin, almost hot to the touch. He was big. Hell, he wasn’t just big–big was just the first word that came to his mind, but it couldn’t begin to capture the sensation of this. Powerful was closer. Strong was another. None of them could quite capture it, because it wasn’t just the raw force–it was the comparison between this, and who he had been before.

Weak. He had been so…weak. He couldn’t stop anyone from doing anything to him. He was just passive. But now–now, he could do something. He imagined that scene from earlier, in the hall, where Jack had cornered him–more than that, where he’d assaulted him. He thought about how he’d been unable to do anything about it–how it was just the luck of Finn passing by that had resolved the entire situation. How if this watch hadn’t shown up here, he would be dreading school tomorrow, wondering what Jack would do, since he hadn’t responded to his invitation, for lack of a better word. But it had shown up. It had shown up, and now–now he didn’t have to worry about that. Now, he was going to be in control.

He stretched up, feeling his joints popping and snapping as the last of the growth finished off. It did hurt–but not like the first time. If anything, he almost…enjoyed it. He turned back to the mirror, and discovered that with his new frame, he filled it. He had to take a step back, his back against the wall opposite sink, so that he could even see all of himself in it. The rest of the changes were coming now–the tingle of the hair across his body, but other sensations as well. He felt…a bit sick to his stomach, actually, and worried it was some side effect of the watch being used twice, but the unease settled in lower, beneath his gut and in his lower abdomen. He didn’t quite know what was happening to him, but his cock was growing again–not as much as it had the first time, by any means, but it was still larger than any cock he’d seen in porn. Eleven inches? Twelve? It was…monstrous. He reached down to grab it, and when he did, he gasped–it was…so sensitive, and almost immediately it hardened, passing a foot long as it did, jutting out from him like a small spear. The unease slipped lower and gripped his balls–and intensified. It had been uncomfortable before, but this time–his balls didn’t merely double in size–they swelled in his hands where he cupped them and dropped lower, each swelling to the size of a grapefruit, and as they did, he felt lust surge through him.

Acceleration (Part 3)

His heart was pounding in his ears, and he felt the muscles in his body begin to respond in the same way. It was his chest next, first one pec and then the second, both of them swelling to, what seemed to him at the moment, obscene proportions. It was enough to make him slightly top heavy, and he had to lean on the wall for support–and it didn’t help that his vision was swimming, and a deep ache was forming in his bones. Soon, the ache was stronger than the muscles expanding all over his body–like someone had rooted the bones of his feet to the floor, and someone else had him by the skull, dragging him up towards the ceiling and stretching him out. He couldn’t be sure, due to the fact that the room wouldn’t stop spinning, but it seemed…that he was getting taller. He lost his balance then, and tumbled to the floor, rolling about in discomfort as his body twisted and shifted around him. He was aware of other sensations beginning to form, but his senses were so overwhelmed, he barely recalled what he’d felt, by the time the pain began to recede, his heart began to slow, and he could finally focus on the room around him without feeling nauseous.

He didn’t think there was a single group of muscles that had gone unaffected–and now that everything had grown, there was just a lingering weakness, that made it hard to even roll over and push himself up. Still, more pressing was his clothes, which were far too tight on his changing body. He struggled out of the shirt first, as quickly as he could, and then shoved his jeans down to his ankles. As he stripped down to his his socks and underwear, he could feel something else happening in addition to the ache, a sensation of pins and needles, like when his arm or leg fell asleep, but it was appearing in the strangest of places. Like the muscle spasms, it started in the arm where the watch was strapped to him, and spread from there across his chest to his other arm, and down the center of his torso, to his groin. The sensation intensified, and looking at his arm on the ground, he saw small hairs pushing their way through his skin–a few at first, but then more following, until there was a soft layer covering up his forearm, across his chest, and sprouting around his cock and balls. Those, too, had started to tingle, and were almost…pulsing. Reaching down, he felt them through his briefs, his cock throbbing. At first he thought he was just getting hard, but then he realized his cock was…growing, as were his balls. He’d never had the largest endowment, but it was at least average. Hell, on his smaller frame, it actually looked sizable, but when he pulled down the front of his briefs, and the nine inch shaft flopped out–he could barely believe it. He managed to stand, as the last of the prickling sensation washed down his legs, and up onto his face. There was a sudden sharp pain in his neck, and when he let out a yelp of surprise, he found his voice had dropped an octave lower than before, and running a hand over his chin, he felt a thick stubble coating his cheeks, chin, and neck.

He stood there for a moment, shaking, waiting for something else to happen–but nothing else came. He was exhausted, but alive…and he staggered down the hall to the downstairs bathroom, flipped on the light, and just…stared at himself, shocked.

It was him, in the mirror. The same…basic face–like looking at a picture of yourself when you’re five–but it was like the watch had triggered the growth spurt he’d always hoped for–well, a growth spurt, and a bit more besides. Everything had seemed more extreme, when it was happening on his now smaller body, but the result was actually…normal. A bit manlier than some of his classmates, actually. His new height, if he had to guess, was a touch shy of six feet, and with his now muscular physique, he looked like a bull, or maybe one of the players on the football team. He wasn’t quite as big as Finn, by any means, but he doubted Jack would have a very easy time picking on him looking like this–feeling like this…

Fuck, what was he going to do? His parents were going to be home in a few hours, and he was going to look like a freak to them! He wouldn’t be going to school tomorrow–he’d probably be in some lab at a hospital, trying to figure out what, exactly, this thing had done to him. He looked at himself again, running his hand through the stubble across his face, and now that the pain was gone, what followed was euphoria. He felt strong. Looking at himself there, he didn’t feel the usual pang of humiliation and disgust. He just looked…right. He looked like someone he wanted to look like–like someone he could be attracted to.

There was a beep, suddenly around his wrist, and he looked at the watch, worried that something else was going to happen that would ruin this, but the screen was showing something familiar:

Re-calibration complete!

Admin not detected

Restricted use mode #013

Ready…

The button on the side popped back out, and he stared at it, and then at himself in the mirror.

Acceleration (Part 2)

The worst part of it was, Russell knew Finn was sorry. He made a mistake–a big mistake–and it was probably tearing him up that there wasn’t anything he could do to fix it. But Russell just couldn’t find the space to forgive him, not yet. It had been so important, such a momentous thing for him, and it had been reduced to pillow talk by his best friend. That was what hurt the most–that Finn would never suffer anything for the mistake he made. The only thing Russell could do was never speak to him again, but how would that help either of them, really? But if he did try to reconcile, how could he possibly trust him with anything important again?

The rest of the day went by without further incident, and Russell ducked out of school as quickly as he could, before Jack could track him down and demand that blowjob from him. He didn’t know what he’d do about the bully tomorrow, but that was a concern for later–he just wanted to get home and put as much of this behind him as he could. Both of his parents were still at work, as was usual. They’d be gone until eight or so at their jobs, leaving Russell to fend for himself. He had a snack, and then went up to his room to play some computer games–but as he loaded up the game, he heard the doorbell. He didn’t usually answer the door when his parents were gone, but a few minutes later, the bell rang again–and then again. He went downstairs, planning on asking whoever it was to leave, but when he opened the door, all he found was an empty stoop, with a small cardboard box on the welcome mat.

Was it from Jack? He didn’t know where he lived, though–Russell had been careful to guard that knowledge from him, and the bully hadn’t seemed interested in pursuing him beyond school grounds. He picked it up and took it inside, opened it up, and inside he found a strange, watch-like contraption, and a folded up note. He read the paper, but it didn’t have any information regarding who had left the package outside, but it did make it clear that the odd device was intended for him. There were also instructions–put it on his wrist, and then, when the thing had finished “calibrating” (whatever that meant) he should press the button on the side–once.

He took the thing from the box and examined it, turning it over in his hands. It really did resemble a digital watch of some sort, but the face was blank–if it was supposed to be telling the time, it was clearly broken–hell, if it was supposed to be displaying anything at all, it was broken. Maybe it needed batteries? He flipped it over, but the case was seamless–there didn’t seem to be any way to get into it to change anything at all. Still, if it was broken, there wasn’t any harm in putting it on, right? He had to toy with the odd clasp for a moment, but he got it secured around his wrist–and then, without him doing anything, the band tightened around it–not uncomfortably so, but tight enough he couldn’t quite comfortably wedge a finger between band and skin. He looked at the screen, and sure enough, it had sprung to life as the band tightened, the word “calibrating…” flashing in the middle of the screen, as a thin black line slowly wound around the face. The circle completed in a moment, and the screen showed a series of screens:

Re-Calibration complete!

Admin not detected

Restricted use mode #013

Ready…

The word ready remained, and a small button popped out on the side of watch–and Russell had no intention of pressing it. This thing was all too strange, and he still had no clue what it might even do to him, when he pressed it. He tugged at the strap, but it refused to loosen, and he couldn’t get the clasp to unhook, as tight as it was around him. He tried pulling and tugging for several minutes, and in his increasingly frantic struggles, his thumb slipped, hit the button on the side, and it slid back into the watch. At the same time, he felt a sharp sting on his wrist, directly beneath the face of the watch, like a series of small needles had slid into him and back into the watch nearly instantaneously. He shook his hand for a moment, and again tried to pry the watch from his body, but it refused to budge–and it was clear that whatever the thing had injected into him, it was having an effect–but what it was doing exactly was a mystery.

He noticed it in his arm first, the skin flushing, as small bumps appeared, looking almost like hives running up his slender arm. He felt his heart rate speed up, but whether it was caused by the injection, or whether it was just his own terror, he couldn’t be certain. The muscles in his forearm cramped suddenly, and then released–and when they did, they exploded–or at least, that’s what it felt like to Russell. It looked like it too–his forearm had nearly doubled in size, thick with muscle, and before he could feel it with his free hand, he felt his bicep–and then his tricep–do the same. Moments later, the arm with the watch on it looked almost comical–packed with muscle from wrist to shoulder, while his other arm was still thin, without any definition at all.

Acceleration (Part 1)

“What do you think guys? Is Runt any taller today?”

Jack shoved Russell up against the lockers in the high school hallway, and he struggled against him, but his arms were several inches too short to get anywhere near Jack’s chest.

“Nah man, I think he’s just stopped!”

“Gonna be looking like he’s twelve forever, probably!”

Jack leaned in close, a cruel sneer on his face. “And a faggot too–not that surprising. I ain’t gay, but I do have something that might help you grow,” Jack said, and with his free hand he groped his crotch, making sure Russell could see the bulge through the mesh of the basketball shorts he had on. The other jocks clustered around their ringleader looked a bit nervous–it was clear that this part hadn’t been discussed, but Russell’s sexuality had been a hot topic at school for the last week or so–Jack was bound to find out eventually. “Eh? You and me, the bathroom after school? Nothing helps me grow like a good boost of protein, and you might as well get some practice, faggot.”

“Jack, leave him the fuck alone!”

Russell and Jack looked to the side, where Finn was standing a few yards away. As if things could get any worse–Russell would gladly have sucked Jack’s cock if it meant Finn could just fucking disappear. Still, Jack let go of Russell’s shirt, and he fell back against the lockers. It wasn’t very surprising, really–Jack liked to be the bully, but he knew when he was outmatched, and Finn was about the only person in school who could outmatch him–but then, Finn outmatched everyone, pretty much.

“I’ll be waiting, faggot. Be there, or fucking regret it,” Jack said, too low for Finn or his posse to hear him, and then he walked away, the guys laughing and joking, and Finn walked to where Russell was recovering.

“Russ, are you alright?”

“Fuck off, Finn,” Russell said, and hefted up his backpack, “Haven’t you done enough shit already this week to ruin my life?”

“I told you I’m sorry, Russ–”

“And I thought I could fucking trust you!” Russ said, “I don’t–fuck you, Finn. You don’t fucking know.” It was lame, and he knew it, but he couldn’t put everything he was feeling into words. He just pushed past Finn, in the opposite direction Jack had gone, and headed for his class, just wanting to get through the rest of school without the day turning into even more of a nightmare than it already was.

Why couldn’t he have just kept his mouth shut? It wasn’t hard, after all, to just not say anything. Then again, Russell had told him, hadn’t he? Holding onto it for this long had just been…exhausting, and that night at Finn’s house, with a little alcohol from his dad’s stash, it had just…popped out. “I think I’m gay.” And Finn had been good! Really good, in fact. They’d talked through it a bit, and when Russell had left, he’d felt…good for the first time in a very long time, that his oldest friend would accept and support him no matter what, and no matter how they’d grown apart over the last couple of years.

Russell and Finn had bonded during Freshman year. At the time, they’d both been late bloomers, at the time, and together they had weathered the social trials of the first year of high school. But Finn had spent the summer away from town, visiting family on the other side of the country, and when he’d returned…well, he hadn’t been the same Finn who’d left, that was for sure. He’d grown a bit over a foot taller, packed on muscle and fat, and had somehow managed to grow a full beard. Russell had barely been able to believe it, and when they’d gone back to school, suddenly he and his friend were pulled apart. Finn was recruited to the football program, and quickly became the start of the JV team, while Russell was left in the dust–and that was when Jack entered the picture as well.

Jack was a year younger than them both, and while he couldn’t hold a candle to Finn, he immediately saw Russell was a perfect target for bullying, even if he was a year older than him. Hell, that actually made the whole thing even more fun for Jack–Russell could tell. And so, two more years had passed, Russell praying for a growth spurt and puberty which would never come–all he got was a light dusting of hair around his groin, an embarrassing cracking voice that never settled particularly low, and a case of acne that made him want to hide his face for half a year. Still, even if he’d had less time for him, Finn had done his best to remain friends with Russell, but it was inevitable that they would grow apart. Admitting to Finn that he was gay–part of why that had felt so good, was that it meant he was still his friend. But Finn had loose lips, and he’d let slip about it to Amy, the girl he was fucking at the moment, and Amy had told Emma and Trevor, and so on and so forth, and now everyone in the whole school pretty much knew, or would know by the next week.

Pigtown Prison II – The Rookie (Part 5)

Jeff looked up at him, where Keith loomed large over everything, over his entire life. What did it really matter, if he agreed or not? He’d be Keith’s toy either way–but at least, if he agreed…maybe he would be happier with himself. So he said yes, and Keith told him to take two days, sell his things, end his lease, and return with a single bag. He’d be living with Keith from now on, as his slave. The word made Jeff balk, and when he left, he told himself he wouldn’t do it…but the desperation returned, as it always did. Two days later, he was there on the porch, one small duffel packed with only the necessities, and he stepped inside, got on his knees when ordered, and sucked his Master’s cock, showing his gratitude that Keith was willing to train him.

He stayed on at the force, but Keith had his hours cut back quite a bit, and arranged it so Jeff’s checks would be deposited automatically into his own accounts. Keith had a sizable personal gym in his house, and when Jeff wasn’t at work or completing his chores, he was there–working out and lifting weights. His meals were massive, and from the first day, Keith would inject him several times during the day, but always refused to tell Jeff what, exactly, the injections were. Still–they were working. Three months later, he was already larger–when he looked at himself in the mirror, he was beginning to see the sort of brute he longed to be…but his looks weren’t the only changes. His mind was slowing down. He had a difficult time making decisions, and relied on Keith–or Master, as he called him now, to decide everything for him–when to eat, what to eat, when to sleep, how to work out, what chores to do. It was a comfort, really, that he didn’t have to think. He knew he was being reduced to a stupid beast…but rather than be horrified, the idea actually turned him on more and more.

Keith shaved his head, pierced his nipples and cock, and began taking him to a tattoo parlour, his entire body slowly being covered by blocks and swirls of black ink, from his neck down to the tops of his feet. He loved it–especially when he was in Pigtown and caught sight of himself in a mirror, while he was balls deep inside a pig’s hole. He looked like a nasty minded thug pig, just like Keith told him he was going to be–and it was all he really wanted to be, anymore. At the bar, he would still take Rod’s drinks, but now that he was larger, the effect was even more substantial. Each time he was there, he would up even larger than before–and in turn, his daily body never felt large enough–no matter how large he got. He knew, in his mind, that he should be satisfied, but between Keith’s humiliation, and the rush of those evenings behind the curtain, even when he finally plateaued at 280 pounds of muscle and fat…he still felt puny. It didn’t help that, somehow, he was getting shorter. He lost almost six inches, from the time he moved in with Keith–and he was never able to get a straight answer why. The loss in height only made him work harder for more and more mass. He lost flexibility, his muscles restricting his movement–especially in his shoulders and neck. The pills and shots Keith were forcing on him fucked with his hormones as well, his cock and balls growing and constantly horny, hair sprouting all over his body in thick patches, and acne erupting all over his face and back, leaving his face scarred and pitted. His face–he barely recognized old photos of him anymore. He seemed so square and boxy, his head sitting right on his massive, inflamed chest, a thick beard hiding his mouth, usually stuck in a scowl.

As thick as he was, and as aggressive as he found himself behaving around the precinct–especially around guys on the force he knew he’d be fucking later in the evening, Keith kept him under his control at all times. He loved the fact that he could bend Jeff over, anywhere and anytime, and have his way with his muscle bull–with Rook, as everyone had started calling him, joking that he was built like a tower on a chess board. Keith had come up with it–as a way to shorten his usual nickname of Rookie, now that he was no longer new–and he especially loved it because Rook had grown too stupid to really understand the reference, but he knew it was a compliment, and so he grinned when he heard it all the same.

A few years later, Rook had nearly forgotten about Jeff entirely. He was Master’s enforcer, bruiser, and pet monster–whatever Master Keith wanted him to be, and whoever he wanted him to hurt, Rook obeyed him without question. The last time he felt Jeff at all, was when he was down in Master’s dungeon, punishing one of his prisoners. The leather body bag was hanging from the ceiling, squirming, as Rook went at it for another round, treating it like a literal punching bag, enjoying the feel of the flesh breaking and squishing inside so much more satisfying than the fluff of the bags he usually practiced on. Still–it had had enough. He unzipped the head of the bag, and saw the face inside–it was some old pig named Oliver, who’d been down here as long as Rook could remember, and looking at his bloody face, he felt a flicker of regret…but he stamped it out. That was weakness. He didn’t want to be weak. He grabbed Oliver by the ears, shoved his dick into his mouth and fucked him roughly, imagining he was fucking himself, that old self, breaking it up and throwing it away for good, and by the time he came, feeding the grateful Oliver a good sized load, Rook felt better. Rook felt like everything was exactly the way things were supposed to be.

Pigtown Prison II – The Rookie (Part 4)

He went back to the gym, and again worked himself to exhaustion, and then kept going. It wasn’t enough. He wasn’t strong enough. If he was stronger, he could beat Keith at his own game. If he was bigger, he’d be in control of himself, he’d be in control of everything. He collapsed, hours later, shaking and covered and sweat, and looked at the clock. It was five thirty, and if he jogged…no. No, he wouldn’t do it. It was a trap, and he knew it was a trap, and still, he was getting up, still in his sweat soaked gym clothes, and he left, hustling down the sidewalks through rush hour until he reached the precinct building, where Keith was on the steps, in his uniform, waiting. “You had me worried, Rookie–you’re a couple minutes late. Good thing I was feeling lenient today.”

Jeff wanted to pummel him into the ground. He wanted to drag him in, throw him in a jail cell, and find someone–anyone–who would believe him. But being this close to him, smelling him, he found himself shrinking slightly as he approached…and he hated it. “You can’t…do this to me.”

Keith smiled, “Rookie, you still don’t get it. You’re going to be doing this to yourself, soon enough. Now let’s get going.”

The walk to the bar was quiet. Jeff did his best to memorize the path, so he’d, hopefully, be able to find his way back on his own, so he could report the place…later. But the street wasn’t even the same one as before–even if the bar looked the same–and now even more confused, he followed Keith up the steps and into the bar–and once he was inside, everything just came naturally, like sliding into a dream. Four or five painful drinks, and then he was himself again. He was the self he wanted to be, and then he was back behind the curtain, fucking any hole he could find, but now, Keith stayed close by, urging him on, both of them fucking pigs together, occasionally fucking Jeff while Jeff fucked someone else, and Jeff found himself…envying Keith. His uniform, and his confidence. The next morning he was back in Keith’s apartment, and back to himself, but when Keith wanted to fuck him…Jeff found himself looking forward to it, in some sick way, and that was when he realized he had, without even thinking about it, given in entirely.

He managed to keep some semblance of himself together, for a time. But every night he spent in Pigtown with Keith and the other pigs on the force, the more he wanted to be that brute, and the more disgusting he found his relatively small frame the next day. When the sergeant suggested he become Keith’s partner on the force, he jumped at the chance–and quickly discovered that Keith had quite the racket going on the side. Usually, at the end of their shifts, they’d pick up a suspect or two, with or without evidence, and take them to Pigtown. None of them ever left again, to Jeff’s knowledge…but that didn’t faze him like he knew it should. He honestly didn’t care what he had to do anymore, so long as Keith kept taking him there…but eventually, the bar wasn’t enough. He didn’t just want to be the brute at night–he wanted to be him all the time. He didn’t care what it would take, or what he would have to give up, and so, one night, while Keith was distracted, Jeff went to the bar, where Rod poured him another drink–but he didn’t take it.

He was about halfway there, at this point. Muscles hulking, cock aching for a good hole, but still…capable of thought, even if he didn’t really want to. He pushed the drink away, which caught Rod by surprise. “What’s up, Rookie? Wanting something different tonight?”

“No…I…” he hesitated, “I don’t…want it to end, anymore.”

Rod cocked an eyebrow.

“I don’t want to wake up tomorrow, and be small anymore. I can’t…take it. I hate it, I hate myself. I just…I want to be this. This brute. I don’t…care what you do to me. I know guys disappear here. I know most of the guys Keith and I bring here just go behind that curtain and never come back out. I don’t care what you do to me back there, but I can’t go back out. I can’t bear it anymore.”

Rod nodded, “As sexy as that would be, chaining you up down there, making a real monster out of you–that’s not quite my call.”

“You own this place! It can be your call. I give you permission, please, just…just take me.”

“This is the deal I have with Keith. He brings me men, and in return, I let him do what he likes with the ones he claims–men like you. And trust me–he likes you a lot, and he likes how miserable you look the morning after. I suppose you could ask him. He might be willing to let you stay down there, if you beg. He likes it when they beg–trust me.”

He looked at Keith, and then back at Rod. “He won’t do it, I know him. He won’t.”

Rod shrugged, and pushed the drink over to him. “Then bottoms up, Rookie. Get what you can, if you can’t get what you want.”

The next morning, even though he knew what Keith’s answer was going to be, he asked anyway. He got down on his knees and begged for it, really, begged for Keith to let him be the brute, begged him to let him stay there, if he wanted. Keith just listened, laughed, and shoved Jeff onto all fours, and fucked him again, right on the floor.

“Why the fuck would I do that?” Keith asked, “Sure, you make a sexy beast, at night, but what I love is this,” he hammered in his cock for emphasis, “This, the morning after, seeing how weak you are, seeing you realize how weak you are. Letting me do whatever the fuck I want to you, all of that ego, and all of that power just stripped away, and you turn into a desperate little faggot, everytime. Because that’s what you really are, you know. A desperate faggot. All of my pigs are. Don’t feel too bad about it–none of you can help it. Not you, not the sergeant, not the captain, not anyone on the squad. You’re all just pigs–and nothing more.” He kept fucking, Jeff trying to feel some anger or rage at Keith…but he just felt empty. The cock in his ass filled the hole slightly, but it wasn’t enough–it was never going to be enough. Keith finished, and slipped free, and while he wiped his cock off, he said, “Still–you want it that badly? Then fine. I’ll help. But you don’t get it the easy way, and you have to do everything I say pig. No talking back, no resistance, and never, ever say no. One chance–take it, or don’t.”

Pigtown Prison II (Part 3)

But of course it was for better! He…didn’t really want to be that beast, did he? No! Of course not! He tried to convince himself of that for a few minutes, and generally succeeded in doing so, burying that secret joy back in his chest, and he got out of bed, looked around for his clothes, only to remember that he’d…torn them all to shreds. How in the hell did he even get home last night–or rather, how in the hell did he get here? While the beginning of the night was relatively clear, the whirlwind of sex never seemed to end in his memory–there was just fucking, then nothing, then here, himself again and hungover.

The door to the room swung open, and there, in the doorway, was Keith–also completely naked, with that same cocky grin on his face from the bar plastered across it. “Morning Rookie–feeling alright?”

“F-Fuck you,” Jeff managed to stammer, “What the fuck was that?”

“Just an initiation of sorts, is all. You certainly enjoyed yourself, don’t you think?” He walked in, and he reeked of sex and leather and smoke, just like Jeff did, and he scooted back on the bed. “No, get the fuck away from me.”

“Oh? After giving you such a good night, where you enjoyed yourself so much, and now you think you can just prude up? It’s time for you to learn, Rookie, that a night at Pigtown with me doesn’t ever come free.”

Jeff couldn’t resist him–he didn’t feel like he could do anything. Keith had him pinned down, kissing and licking his neck, and to his own disgust–he liked it. Keith liked it too, feeling Jeff struggle, feeling how weak he was, and taunted him with it, mocked him, how such a big man from the night before was just going to give it up like this. Before long, Jeff was on his belly, Keith inside him, fucking him, and fuck, it felt good–and Keith knew it felt good. It was like he…knew him, inside and out, every button, so that by the time Keith finally filled Jeff’s hole with a load, Jeff had already shot his onto the sheets beneath him, and he felt like whore.

“Not bad Rookie, for your first real fuck,” Keith said, and got up from the bed. “You can borrow some of my clothes to get home, if you want–or just go naked. You were certainly shameless and proud of it last night in the streets. Or hey, if you want more, you can always stick around.”

He didn’t want to stick around. It took Jeff most of the day to sort his shit back out, get to his car where he’d parked it, and get back to his apartment. If anything, it was nice having a concrete problem to solve–but when he was alone again…everything came surging back. The shame, the weakness, the…lust. The clothes Keith had given him were dirty cast offs, full of his musk, and Jeff couldn’t help but smell them, thinking about that fuck earlier–but also about how he’d felt that night before. How big he’d been. How horny he’d been. How good it had felt to be so dominant and powerful. Looking at himself in the mirror, it was difficult to convince himself that he really was back to normal–compared to who he’d been for those few hours, he couldn’t help but see himself as a runt. He jacked off a couple of times, and then decided to go to the gym.

He spent hours there. He skipped his cardio, and focused on weights, pushing himself to the max over and over again. At first, it was just to prove to himself that he was a strong as he remembered…but eventually it wasn’t about proving himself at all. He…wanted to be that big again. He wanted it like he’d never really wanted anything in his life. This wasn’t enough–if…if he couldn’t be that brute, then he…he didn’t think he’d ever really be happy again. In the end, he just exhausted himself and trudged home, every muscle on fire, covered in sweat but no larger than he had been. Everything felt so…hopeless. But maybe…maybe if he could find that bar again, he could get another one of those drinks. Maybe just…one more night like that, and he could get this all out of his system.

He followed Keith’s directions to the letter, but when he reached the alley, the bar was nowhere to be found. It didn’t even look like the same part of the city. He cased the whole street anyway, and then started weaving around the streets nearby, certain it had to be close, but everytime he thought he saw a flicker of that blue neon, it turned out to be just another closed sign hung in the window of a pawn shop or restaurant. It had to exist. It had to. It couldn’t have all just been in his head, he refused to believe that. Defeated and desperate, he went back to his apartment and fell into a fitful sleep.

He skipped work the next day, and called in sick. He couldn’t face them, any of them, not after what he’d done. Especially not after what he’d done to the sergeant…and not after what the sergeant had begged him to do to him. It was clear–this was all Keith’s doing, and that bartender. He needed to turn them in, and clear house at the precinct. If that involved implicating himself then so be it. So he called the captain’s line, ready to confess, but when the phone picked up, he didn’t get an answer–all he could hear was some distant grunting and moaning.

“That you, Rookie?” a voice said over the line after a minute. It was Keith. “Of course it is. The captain and I are busy at the moment–I heard you aren’t feeling too good though. Need a pick me up? Meet me at the precinct tonight, six sharp, and we can go get you what you need.”

The phone hung up, leaving Jeff standing there, shaking, cock hard and erect, wondering just how high this went. Did he dare call someone else? Go to internal affairs? If he did, and the person he talked to was compromised…he had a feeling that neither Keith, nor Pigtown, would treat him kindly for that betrayal.

Betrayal–it wasn’t a fucking betrayal! The fucker had lured him there under false pretenses, drugged him, and then raped him the morning after in the clear light of day. He didn’t understand his own reluctance. He’d never been one to shy away from the moral act, even if it was difficult, but he found himself caught between that old self, and someone else entirely. He needed to clear his head. He needed to work out.

Pigtown Prison II – The Rookie (Part 2)

“Fuck…” Jeff muttered, the room spinning a bit, “Fuck, what the fuckin’ shit…”

“Hey now, Rookie, calm down for a second,” Keith said and stood up after him, “You feelin’ good man?”

“Fuck–hell fuckin’ yeah I feel fuckin’ good!” Jeff said, “I…I ain’t never felt like this, fuck!”

“Yeah, I thought you’d like this, once you got the hang of it,” Keith stepped closer, rubbing his leather uniform against Jeff’s bare skin. He looked up at him, having to crane his neck a bit further back than usual, because he seemed…shorter than before. Shorter, and wider. In fact, it was kind of hard to move his neck, because of how much muscle had been packed onto it–the same with his arms, and his thighs. Keith bent down, and kissed him roughly, Jeff returning it with plenty of fervor, wrestling with his tongue, but Keith simply forced his way into Jeff’s mouth, invading and dominating him with just his tongue, so that when he pulled away, Jeff was breathless. “Come on Rookie, let’s meet the rest of the guys, eh? I have a feeling you’re gonna have a great time tonight.”

Keith put his arm back around Jeff’s shoulder, and now the smell of the leather wasn’t off putting–but spicy and somehow exciting. Jeff reached down and idly stroked his cock, only to discover he was already completely hard–and much, much larger than he had been previously. He felt powerful. He felt…fuck, he felt like fighting. He felt like getting in a fucking brawl, and knocking someone flat, before rolling them over and raping their ass. He reached around and grabbed Keith’s ass as they passed through the curtain–but as soon as he did, Keith stopped, and gave him a side-eye. “Careful you don’t bite off more than you can handle, Rookie. I’ve been at this a whole lot longer than you.”

Jeff…wasn’t sure of what to make of the look in Keith’s eyes. The red light of the backroom met the green and just turned them a harsh, unyielding grey, and a spike of fear cut through him, and he pulled his hand away. “Good boy–why don’t you go say hi to our sergeant over there?”

Keith pointed to a threesome underway, an older, chubby bear spitroasted by two hung muscle bears, also in police uniforms like Keith was. The pig in the middle–it took Jeff a moment to recognize him, but it was, in fact, the sergeant…but twisted. A full tangled beard, eyes crazed with lust, a hundred pounds heavier–but it was him. He looked over at Jeff, and he knew what the pig needed. He stomped over, shoved one of his fellow officers out of the way and took over, ramming his cock in deep, fucking him roughly, and Keith just watched, for a moment, letting him get into a nice rhythm, before he went over, pulling his own cock free as he did. He shoved Jeff in deep, and then slipped two wet leathered fingers into the brute’s hole, listening to his moan with pleasure, and then fucked him hard, Jeff nearly lost in a sexual haze, pounding into the Sergeant with even more fervor, snarling and growling until he exploded, and Keith filled the rookies hole as well.

“That’s a good fucker–now go make some new friends, eh?”

Jeff, eyes glazed and lost, just nodded dumbly, wandered over until he saw another hole, and started fucking all over again, his cock not even going soft in between fucks. Satisfied, Keith slipped back out into the bar proper, and sat back down at the bar.

Rod just inspected a glass, and then set it down. “Not your usual flavor, I have to say.”

“He was gonna be a troublemaker, I could just tell. Better to nip it in the bud.”

“He has a solid will–think you can handle it?”

Keith gave him a wink, “I learned from the best, right boss?”

***

Jeff, woke up with a burning headache–unlike any hangover he’d ever experienced. He remembered Pigtown, or at least most of it, but it seemed–impossible. One minute he’d been himself, and the next he’d literally ripped his way out of his clothes, become some dumb hairy brute…and then he’d spent the rest of the evening in a sexual frenzy. He lost count, in his mind, of how many different holes he’d fucked–fellow officers of the force, both ends of their sergeant, other anonymous pigs who had all begged him for his seed. He’d kept expecting, after each orgasm, to finally come down from his high, but it seemed like every load only made him hornier, every load larger than the rest, his balls churning with need. Fuck, just thinking about it was getting him horny! He reached down for his cock, only to find it had shrunk.

No–not shrunk. It was normal. It was his dick, but after a night wielding such a massive cock, it felt so…small. He gave it a few strokes, but despite being turned on my his memories, it remained flacid, and more than that, his arm ached too much to even begin to jack off. Every inch of him ached–but more than the hurt, he simply felt…weak. Whether, like his cock, it was a matter of exhaustion from the night before (a night he still wasn’t quite convinced had actually happened) or simply a matter of comparison, after being such a massive beast of a man, capable of hefting the three hundred and fifty pound sergeant into the air, and impaling him on his cock, he didn’t know–but what he did know was that he hated it.

He felt awful. He felt sick, but more than that, he couldn’t believe what he’d done–what Keith had done to him. What that bartender had done to him. He opened his eyes a crack, hoping to see his apartment ceiling, but it wasn’t. He was somewhere else, in a sizable bed, alone. He was filthy too–reeking of sex–but his body was back. For better or worse, he was himself.