Tag: muscle growth

Arctos Monthly (Part 4)

Andy was, shall we say, impressed with my new look when he came back from class–and he was even more happy when he got a taste and a feel of my new, extended cock, all the way down his throat, and shoved up his ass to the hilt. However, once we’d gone a few rounds, and were lounging around the room, smoking, I could tell he was mulling something over in his head, and I prodded it out of him–he was thinking about what might happen when he got his next package sometime in the next week. I told him to not sweat it too badly, that I was sure Arctos wouldn’t do something to him he wouldn’t like, but I could understand his reservations at the time. After all, the clothes he’d receives had all been cut from a certain…style–walking around campus, he looked more like he belonged as an extra in a country music video, or working on a farm or something, than going to college. Still, the cigar showed up in its small box, a few days later, and Andy had simply decided he wasn’t going to smoke it.

That…well, I hadn’t really considered that as a possibility. That he might just…not do it. Still…I felt a bit guilty, I admit it, for pushing him into the whole thing to begin with. I kind of expected him to just throw the cigar away, and I think that’s what he wanted to do…but instead he just left the box on his messy desk, open. I caught him staring at it more than once that day, like he was questioning his own resolve, but I knew it was better for me to just stay out of it, and let him figure it out himself. What I didn’t expect, was that by the next morning, the cigar would be different. Longer. Thicker. Rougher. Now Andy could barely keep his eyes off of it, and I had a feeling he wasn’t going to have much choice in the matter, whether he wanted to smoke it or not. Still, somehow he held off for another day–it helped, I think, that he was gone at classes for most of it, but come Saturday…well, the cigar was massive, he had it in his mouth, and I went ahead and excused myself–there was no way I wanted to get caught in that room, with him smoking that monster. Turns out that was a very good idea.

Apparently, the longer these things sit–the stronger they get. I came back and found Andy had grown well over an extra hundred pounds–hell, he was probably closer to 500 at that point. His beard was huge and long, down past his fat moobs to his chest, his hair equally long, greasy and uncombed. His side of the room looked like a fucking sty, piles and piles of unwashed clothes, and he was still smoking, sitting on a dildo, and as soon as he saw me come through the door, he started demanding I fuck his fat hole, speaking in a southern accent so thick I could barely understand him around his cigar.

From that day on, Andy…didn’t have much of a mind for school work. Andy didn’t have much of a mind at all. Sure, he tried to keep up for a few days, but his head was so empty now, he preferred sitting around the dorm room, fucking his hole, and eating—and then I noticed Mitch. I still don’t quite know what happened, but Mitch seemed…a bit changed, when I saw him next. He spoke with a slight southern accent, his usually expensive wardrobe seemed a bit grungier, and a bit more southern all of a sudden, and he was obsessed with Andy. That obsession generally took the form of ridicule and pranks, but I thought I knew what might have happened–he must have walked past the room while Andy was smoking that big cigar, and gotten a whiff of the fumes. Not enough to make a huge difference, but enough for me to decide that it was time the bully realized the truth of that old maxim: if you can’t beat ‘em, join ‘em.

I didn’t tell Andy what I was planning, and I’m not sure this new Andy would have really cared all that much. The only things he really seemed to care much about now were drinking, eating, smoking and plugging his ass with my big cock, which frankly? Was a bit of an exhausting endeavour now. He was fucking insatiable, and don’t get me wrong, he was–and remains–a wonderful fuck, but damn, nothing is enough for him. It wasn’t too selfish a wish, right? That someone else might pick up a bit of the slack?

Well, a week passed. I had no way of really knowing when Mitch might get his package, or if he’d even open and use it–though as I’d seen with Andy, I didn’t think Arctos would take no for an answer. It was only half a surprise then, when someone started pounding on our door one evening. Andy wasn’t about to heft his bulk up and answer it, so I did–and found myself faced with Mitch–or the guy who Mitch was now. He’d grown taller and matched my own substantial height, and his already muscular body had grown only more so, along with a thick forest of black hair all over. He had on jeans, leather chaps, leather vest, boots and a muir cap, like he’d stepped out of a leatherman’s dream, but he didn’t want me. He pushed his way past, rolled Andy over with very little ceremony and started pounding away at his hole, Andy groaning and grunting and begging for more…and watching the two of them go at it, I realized I might have just cut myself out of the equation entirely.

Arctos Monthly (Part 3)

Still, I suppose I’m getting ahead of myself, mentioning Mitch–he was in the picture, sure, but he didn’t really get, uh…involved until a while later. So anyway, Andy and I finished that first fuck of ours–I came twice in his hole, he shot at least once all over my sheets, and then licked it up afterwards. I was happy to just smoke my pipe, lounge around, and enjoy the smell of our sex in the room, but he, well, he wasn’t exactly happy about what had happened. I suppose I can’t blame him, but the way I was feeling, the way I was acting–hell, the way I feel and act I should say, I should just use the present tense, since I sure haven’t gotten better about it–I honestly didn’t care all that much, I thought he was just over-reacting. After all, he’d enjoyed it, hadn’t he?

We got into…a bit of a fight. A bit of a fight, because there wasn’t much he could do to me, at least with the body he had now. He threw a weak punch, I tackled and pinned him down, groped him a bit, lit another cigar for him, and we went right into round two. He mellowed out a bit after that, or he knew there wasn’t a whole lot he could do to stop me, but he liked it, he admitted it. Hell, by the end of the week, he needed it more than I did, that fat ass of his was never satisfied, and he’d…well, he never forgave me, exactly, but he was enjoying it all the same, the same way I was. We both knew, in our heads, that we shouldn’t be doing this. That I should feel bad about turning into a domineering top, that he should hate being this fat, desperate bottom. But neither of us did…and we enabled each other because we didn’t have anyone else. It wasn’t like we had much of a social circle after all, looking like this. Everyone else in the dorm thought we were crazy.

Yeah, we gave the floor RA a headache, especially with the smoking. Both of us got written up multiple times, but both of us needed the smoke too much to really care, and even the RA knew there wasn’t much he could do about it, especially this close to the end of the year, so eventually he just gave up, and we smoked with the window open, fucking all the while, and both of us settled in pretty well. Other people in the floor? Well, that’s where Mitch entered the picture. Mitch was the Freshman Hotshot, the Football Recruit, the Drunk Bro, and a huge homophobe to boot. Everyone knew what the two of us were up to, and most people didn’t care, even if they didn’t like it, but Mitch was the one who had to be vocal about it, who had to make sure everyone knew how much he was disgusted by us. It was a performance–we both knew it, but while I was too big for Mitch to do much to, he did harass Andy more than once. I considered referring him to the program for a while, but wasn’t sure if he deserved it, if I really wanted to be around him that much even if he was different, so I held off–then my second package arrived from Arctos, and I forgot about that for a while.

It’s important to note here, I think, that very little else had changed when we got our first package, beyond our bodies and desires. The boxes had been filed with quite a large assortment of clothes, of course, but that was literally all either of us had been wearing for close to a month, and as relatively poor college students, neither of us had the cash to completely revamp our wardrobes. So when I saw the next package from Arctos–or rather, when I saw how small it was–I was a bit disappointed, to say the least–it certainly wasn’t large enough to have any clothes in it. When I opened it up in my room–alone, I should add, since Andy was in class–all I found was a pipe and a bag of tobacco with a note. I didn’t keep that one, but it was shorter and I remember the gist it. All it said was, “Big changes come in small packages. Smoke in your bedroom, either alone or with bears you care about.”

I thought about waiting for Andy to get back, but I was too excited to try it, so I packed the pipe and lit it, but nothing happened, aside from the pipe pumping out way more smoke than should have been possible. At first I thought I had packed it wrong. I tried to take the pipe out…but I couldn’t. It was locked in my lips, and I was sucking in and blowing out even more smoke, so much that the room was soon so foggy I couldn’t see a thing, and I began to feel a bit lightheaded, slumping down at my desk, completely focused on smoking the entire bowl down as quickly as I could.

It was exhausting, but the bowl finally went out, and the smoke began to clear away from the dorm room…and I saw that, indeed, this package had been much, much larger than I had initially thought. My closet door was open, but instead of being filled to the brim with clothes I could no longer hope to fit, I saw it filled with shirts to fit my new physique…and a whole bunch of kilts–tartan, leather, denim. It was true, I had…really enjoyed wearing that kilt in my first package, and finally able to stand, I got up to take a closer look, and was overwhelmed with vertigo.

I was even taller now, by a few inches. My body had packed on muscle…and my entire frame was covered from top of foot to my back in bright red hair–and especially a thick, curly bush around my now ten inch cock. I lumbered over to the mirror in the dorm, and sure enough, my head and beard were the same bright red, and I noticed I had also received some tattoos–the scottish flag, my clan…yeah, my clan. I knew my fucking clan, and had the coat of arms tattooed across my entire back. My family had been in the states for a while, so I don’t have much of an accent, but…well, it comes out when I get a bit drunk. I had trophies from when I competed in the highland games, and others for weightlifting and powerlifting. Small packages indeed–and when Andy got his a week later, well…that’s when I knew we needed to do something about Mitch.

Arctos Monthly (Part 1)

I was in the mailroom, and saw the slip telling me that I’d received a package. My first thought was that it was probably another care package sent by my mom–even though I’d just gotten back from spring break a few days earlier. It was a bit embarrassing, but I know I wasn’t the only freshman suffering under parents with empty nest syndrome. However, when I picked up the package it quite large and heavy–at least the size of a small moving box–and wasn’t from my parents at all. With the labels printed out, it looked more like a package from Amazon or something, but I hadn’t ordered anything recently that I could remember. Checking the return address, all I saw was the name of some company I’d never heard of: Arctos Industries.

Still, who wouldn’t be a bit curious? I could have refused it, but I took it back to my room. where I got my scissors from my desk and broke open the tape of the box, opened it up, and found a card on top–I kept it all this time, actually–hold on, I can just read it to you:

Hello Bryan,

We here at Arctos Industries are beginning a new monthly subscription program called Arctos Monthly! Each month, subscribers will receive one box full of our signature clothing and other wares, and we have chosen you to be a part of our launch! If you’ve never heard of us, don’t worry–we’re testing this fabulous new program in both current and future market areas. In this pilot program, you will receive a three month trial subscription to Arctos Monthly, free of charge, and your first shipment of our products will have arrived with this card. We hope you’ll try the outfit on–don’t worry if it doesn’t seem like your usual style, or if there are possible fit issues. Our signature Customerization Process (patent pending) guarantees your satisfaction with our products.

Also as a part of our launch, we are so certain that you will be thrilled with our products that we will provide you with three free referral codes for your friends. Simply go to the website listed below, log in with the information provided, and enter their full name and address, and they too will receive their own three month trial subscription to Arctos Monthly at no charge to you or them, because we know our products are at their best when shared! The referrals never expire, so feel free to wait and see what Arctos can do for you, before deciding who you’d like to refer.

Yours in Brother Bearhood,

Harvey Whitlock

Vice President of Marketing, Arctos Industries

Now that’s all very strange, of course, and I had no idea what to make of the note at the time, but hey, I was a poor college student, and I’d recently discovered how easy it is to take for granted the fact that, when you’re younger, your parents buy you all the clothes you want and need. As an adult it’s not so easy. Even if they weren’t my style, a few extra pants and shirts wouldn’t hurt, right? I threw the card on my desk and pulled out the clothing inside the box–and I was a bit dismayed.

It wasn’t really my style at all, and it looked like it was way, way too big. There were a couple flannel shirts, some XXL tees with the Arctos label across the front and back, Some jeans with a size 46 waist, a trio of jockstraps in white black and red, wool work socks, size 14 boots–and a pipe with a bag of loose leaf tobacco. That last part, especially, freaked me out a bit, after all, who in the hell would send some strange smoking supplies? Still, the clothes…they smelled really good, ok? That’s weird, but I wanted to try them on anyway. Andy, my roommate, was gone–I figured I could put them on, take a silly selfie, and then figure out how to return them for something more my size and style. I put them on as best I could–nothing fit right–hell, I even stuck the unlit pipe in my mouth, held up my phone and took a selfie…but the picture…well, let’s just say I didn’t recognize myself when I looked at the photo.

There, on the screen of my phone, was a big, hulking, muscular man–thick pecs, a decent sized gut pushing out the t-shirt he had on, a thick beard on his face and his hair cut in a high-and-tight, a pipe trailing wisps of smoke into the air. Needless to say, I was a bit freaked out–and then I looked in the mirror, and I really freaked out. It was me. I was the big muscle bear in that selfie, looking like a lumberjack, smoking a pipe I couldn’t remember lighting. I told myself it couldn’t be real, I stripped off the clothes, but my body didn’t change back–and oddly enough, the more I saw of myself…the more I liked it. In fact, I ended up jacking my eight inch cock off, rubbing my very furry gut and chest, smoking the whole while like I’d been doing it for years, shocked at…at how turned on this body was making me, but I found these strange thoughts entering my head. I’d always liked bears, hadn’t I? I tried to tell myself that I was straight, but I couldn’t believe it when I tried to think it. Hell, after I came I tried to think back to how I’d used to look, and I couldn’t remember anything–and then the door opened and Andy stepped in.

I tried to explain–he just blocked his eyes and told me to get some clothes on and put the pipe out before the RA yelled at me again…like I’d always had this body. I pulled on the clothes I’d just taken off and apologized–Andy did his best to take it in stride, and somehow I got the feeling that this hadn’t been the first time he’d walked in on me naked, looking like this. I spent the rest of the evening searching for some…evidence of my old self, but found nothing. All the clothes in my closet? Gone–replaced by various clothing I’d just received in the package. Pictures on Instagram and Facebook? They all looked like this new face, all in situations I could remember…aside from a few big, brawny men I couldn’t remember meeting, but who I could remember…well, fucking. I ended up just…staring at the card from Arctos, reading it over and over, wondering what in the world the next few months would have in store for me…and I looked over at Andy working on one of his papers, feeling my cock suddenly stir…and knew just who would be getting my first referral.

Christmas III: A Brand New Stanta Claus (Part 8)

Stan wasn’t quite sure how he was going to stop himself. He had…a vague idea, but without understanding what was happening to him, or his own powers, he had to kind of wing it. What he knew, for sure, was that he couldn’t punish another person like that, and if that meant he had to create someone who could stop him, then so be it. Still, the next stop on his list–as soon as he read the notes on who he was giving his gift to, he knew it couldn’t be this place, this man. A young man named Joshua, a force for good in his community, a teacher, a good friend, a good person–no, he couldn’t hurt this man. He got out of the sleigh with his bag of gifts and slipped into the man’s home, careful not to wake him up, and slipped over to the small Christmas tree, and began rummaging about for Joshua’s gift.

He found it quickly, pulled it out, and set it under the tree, but as he did, he caught the wrapping on a tree branch and tore a large hole in it. Cursing softly under his breath, he inspected the damage, hoping he could fix it somehow…and saw that a leather strap had flopped out from beneath the paper. Curious what the elves might be giving this man which had a leather strap, he tore the paper a bit further to get a better look, and his heart caught in his throat when he saw what was inside.

A harness. A leather harness. Stan touched it, and immediately felt the purpose behind the gift, and he dropped it with a shout. No–No, this wasn’t a gift, this was a fucking punishment! Why would the elves give a good, honest man something like this? He double checked the tag, but he’d pulled out the correct gift–is this the sort of thing he’d been delivering all night? To everyone on his nice and naughty lists? No, it couldn’t be, it couldn’t be. He pulled another gift from his sack and opened that one–this time a massive, dildo in the shape of a fist. What the fucking hell? Was this some kind of joke?

“H-Hello? a voice said from the doorway of the living room, “Who–who are you, and how did you get in my house?” Joshua asked, when he saw the scantily clad old man kneeling by his Christmas tree, rummaging through a sack of some sort. Stan looked up with a start, not at all sure what to say, or what to think about what he’d just found–but the harness didn’t give him a chance to reply. Sensing it’s target, the leather came alive, ripped it’s way free from the rest of the wrapping and crawled it’s way across the carpet at an impossible speed, before launching itself into the air and wrapping itself around Joshua’s chest.

He screamed, and tried to pry the leather free from his body with his hands, but the thing only gripped him tighter, other bits of leather disconnecting from it, forming bands that wrapped around his biceps, his wrists and snaking down around his ankles, forming boots and gloves. He clomped around for a moment, before the physical changes began–he cried out in pain and crumpled to the floor, his muscle heating up and spasming as the throbbed and grew. Joshua had always kept himself in good shape, as well as time allowed at least, the his muscle quickly absorbed any fat from his body they could find to fuel their growth, and when his body fat came to rest at an absurdly low level, they began eating away at his brain and his bones–shrinking them both. When the changes subsided, a very different Joshua pushed himself up from the floor, hulking with muscle but only a couple inches over five feet tall. He’d lost forty points of IQ and all of his education, his mind now focused only on pleasure and domination, his balls throbbing with need. He wrapped one gloved hand around his foot long cock with a grunt and began jacking himself off, eyes empty, mouth hanging open and drooling, and all Stan could do was watch in horror at what he’d done–unwittingly, but he felt responsible all the same.

Had he simply been blind? Had the elves tricked him? This must have been their goal all along, but he’d been too caught up in his own selfish fantasies of punishing the naughty to realize what was going on right under his nose. He felt like a fool, but they wouldn’t win–he wouldn’t let them. Because there was one person who definitely deserved punishment here, and it was him. He hadn’t been willing to use Joshua before–but that old Joshua was dead. This brute in front of him? He was perfect, for what he’d had in mind before. He closed his eyes, focusing his will as best he could, trying to direct it, and he watched the empty headed look in Joshua’s eyes turn bright and cruel, his mouth turning up into a sneer. His muscles bulged further, fur bristling all over his body, a thick beard coating his face, now dotted with scars from the numerous fights he’d instigated and won, and he turned his attention to the old, fat man in his living room.

“Well now, don’t you know better than to get caught breaking and entering, Santa?” Joshua said, “I don’t take kindly to people busting into my home you know–people who cross me, why, they don’t usually leave for a very, very long time.” He stalked toward Stan, who braced himself as best he could, but he was still laid flat by a single haymaker from Joshua, straight to his jaw. The muscle pig stood over his latest acquisition, chuckled, and then grabbed one booted foot, and dragged him down into his basement dungeon for his due punishment.

Case Closed (Part 4)

He yanked him off his cock by his hair, and Richard nodded. “Yes…sir. I…I wasn’t…telling the truth.”

“Yeah, now why don’t you go ahead and tell Bailey here what really happened last night?”

“I…It was me, sir. I begged them all to fuck me. At…at first they wouldn’t because they were all straight, but I had to get…get down on my knees and…and beg. Beg, and…and plead. And finally they gave…gave me their cocks, sir. That’s…what happened. I was lying before. I’m…I’m sorry.” The last syllable was cut off, by Walker impaling his mouth on his cock again.

The thing is, it didn’t sound like he was telling the truth, but now that I was in here again, my earlier convictions were fading. It really did seem, then, that the fucker had been lying to us, and that meant, that if it wasn’t the second, then it had to be the first. “So what then, Richard? Why go to all this fucking trouble then?” I said, and then squatted down next to him, watching him suck my partner’s cock, “You see, I was doing some thinking, while I was out getting some cigars for me and my partner. I think, the reason you did all this? The reason you had to make up this whole fuckin’ story? Because you need attention. Because you need fuckers like us to feel sorry for you, so we’ll give you a pity fuck, is that it? Did you think that, if you just told us some sob story, about getting raped, that we’d just let you suck our cocks, just like that? You fucking pig, you fucking disgust me.”

“Yeah, you’re gonna have to get up pretty early in the morning to fool me and my partner, you fucker,” Walker said, “Bailey, I think we should do a contraband search on this fucker, what do you say?”

“I think it might be good to check him out, fuck yeah.”

Walker uncuffed him, and together we hauled him up and started stripping him out of his clothes, poking fun at his fat body, twisting his nipples jiggling his fat, stroking his big cock, telling him that if he didn’t want this, then why in the hell was he so fucking hard? He wasn’t even fighting us at this point, the pig knew we’d caught him, and good too. Still, when Walker bent him over the table, holding him down while I gloved up, making sure my sleeves were rolled up well past my elbow, he started protesting again, begging me to not make him do this, to just let him go, but I gave his fat ass a few smacks, and that got him settled down, before I lubed up and slipped my fingers in his ass, listening to him moan.

“Listen to this fucker–I bet he hid something up there just so we’d have to find it.”

“Yeah, why else would the pig be moaning like this?” I said, but I didn’t feel anything near the entrance. I pushed in deeper, widening the hole, but it was so damn tight. If the pig had been fucked by an entire frat house the night before, it sure didn’t feel like it–no, it felt fucking amazing. At some point I must have undone the front of my pants, my free hand stroking my cock as I thrust my fingers deeper and deeper into the pig’s hole. It was…fuck, it was big! All of me looked big, all of a sudden, though. Walker walked around to the other side of the table, which Richard’s head was sticking off of, and started fucking his throat again, and before too long I had my whole fist buried in the pig’s ass. “Fuck, this pig’s so tight, man.”

“Heh, probably didn’t even get fucked at all last night–that’s probably why he’s so desperate. He sure doesn’t look like he goes to fucking college either–heh, maybe a decade ago, eh Richard?”

“Is that what you do, Richard? Nah, not Richard, I bet everyone calls you Dick, don’t they? You’re so fat, so ugly, so old, that the only way you can get someone to pay any attention to you, is if you beg cops like us for fucks, is that it? Well fucking fine pig, have it your way!” I shoved in deeper, feeling him squirm and groan in pain, but as he did, his body started spasming and his cock started spraying cum under the table…and shrinking. It had been fairly sizable before, not that I’d gotten a good look at it, but almost as it shot, it seemed to dwindle, until it was only about three inches long. I looked elsewhere, and the rest of his body was also changing, right in front of my eyes, or at least, that’s what it seemed like at the time. Shit like that can’t really happen, right? He was getting older, his hair turning grey and balding, leaving him with a mostly bald scalp and some stringy hair around it. His body got fatter too, spreading out on the table around him, but I recognized him now–Dick. Fucker’s a regular here, always coming in, claiming he’s been raped and abused, but it’s just a fucking game to this pig, getting the two of us all hot and bothered until we give him a good working over. And fuck if it doesn’t work everytime, but then again, it doesn’t take much for Walker and I to get revved up–the two of us are always fucking horny, and usually always fucking–each other, or tag teaming some pig we pulled off the street and into an alley.

His pig’s tight hole was finally starting to loosen up a bit–I hauled out my arm and slid my big cock inside him and pounded it in up to the hilt over and over, and table screeching across the floor a bit each time from the impact, shoving his throat deeper onto Walker’s cock each time. Finally, the two of us came–I don’t remember who first, but it was close enough together that it didn’t really matter, and we each pulled free. I made Dick get down and lick up the load of cum he’d shot all over the floor, the two of us watching and smoking, making sure he got every drop, and only then did we let the old fag get dressed again in those grungy, stained clothes he’s always wearing. He didn’t look very happy, and he tried to just leave! Well I wasn’t going to have any of that–fuck no. I shoved him up against the wall, and cuffed him for filing a false report.

Case Closed (Part 3)

Walker seemed surprised by my sudden use of force, but he rolled with it, leaning in closer himself, a big, cocky grin on his face, pinning Richard in tighter at the table.

“Look, I…I don’t think…I mean, I–”

“Richard,” Walker said, “There’s nothing wrong with being gay. But there is a little something called ‘filing a false report,’ which is a crime. So I need you to tell me now–right now–if this is all some stupid game to you, because there are real victims out there who could use our help, and you’re obviously wasting our time.”

“I’m not lying!” he said, “This really happened, I know it sounds crazy, but it did!”

At this point, by detective intuition was going crazy. We had this lying pig right where we fucking wanted him, and all three of us knew it, but even then, what came out of my mouth next surprised me–hell, it surprised all of us. “Well, if it really happened,” I said, “then you’d be able to, you know, provide us with details of that night only you would know. Like, how did it feel, pig? How did it feel, getting fucked by all those cocks? How did all your frat brother’s cum taste, eh? Did you enjoy it? I bet a pig like you could use some more, right?” I had stepped closer at this point, by crotch inches from his face. I was…hard, but then again, good detective work always gets me hard…I think. He was staring right at the bulge in my black pants, unable to look away. “My eyes are up here, fucker.” He looked up at me, and the emotion there–he was terrified. Truly terrified. And that…that set me back a bit. I felt like…like maybe I was making a mistake, maybe I was…wrong about him.

“Please…please, if you aren’t…aren’t too far gone, just let me go, please…”

“No pig, you aren’t going anywhere until we get some answers from you,” Walker said, “Right Bailey?”

“R-Right…” I said, but something was wrong about all of this. “I’m…I’m gonna cool off for a bit, take a walk.”

“Sure thing, partner,” Walker said, unbuttoning the first few buttons of his white shirt, pushing up his sleeves again, showing off forearms which looked…bigger than they had, “I think Richard and I here might enjoy some private time, right Richard? In fact, I bet we can get this all sorted out by the time you get back, Bailey.”

I didn’t say anything, I just backed out the door and didn’t stop until I was out of the building entirely, but I felt better as soon as I was outside, like the air was fresher, somehow. But I did need to walk, for a bit. Walking always helps me with my cases. I started off down the city streets, and after a few blocks, I realized one thing didn’t add up. If Richard was lying, which he had to be, of course, then why report it to us? Why come all the way here and report an impossible rape? It wasn’t like he could get anything out of a stupid story like that, with curses and suddenly gay frat houses. So why tell us at all? I could only come up with two possibilities. One, the guy was just desperate for attention, all of this was some weird cry for help or something. The second, more disturbing possibility was that he was telling the truth–and for some reason, I was coming around to seriously considering that might be the case. I mean…I’d felt…different in that room, or so I’d thought. Walker seemed to have been acting strange as well. Maybe…Maybe both of us were being affected, and we didn’t even know it. But if that was the case…then I might have just left the kid in the worst possible position–alone with my partner.

I double timed it back to the precinct and up to the interrogation room where I’d left them. I’d been gone for about half an hour, and all I could hope was that I was either wrong about this, or that I wasn’t too late. I opened the door, and immediately my cock hardened in my pants at the smell, and I looked at the two of them. Richard was now handcuffed to the chair, through the back, and looked like he’d been roughed up a bit, one of his eyes started to blacken. Fucking Walker and his hot head, getting started wwithout me! My partner was sitting on the table in front of him, his fly down, cock out…and Richard had the entire thing down his throat, moaning. Walker looked up and saw me standing there, told me to get in, and without really thinking about it, I stepped inside and shut the door behind me, groping my own crotch as I did.

“Fuck,” Walker said, shoving Richard down on his shaft until he gagged, “Did you get the cigars? Can’t believe we ran the fuck out.”

Cigars? Neither of us smoked, and yet, I reached into my plastic shopping bag I was carrying–even though I couldn’t remember buying anything–and pulled out two. I walked over, handed one to Walker, got it lit for him, and then lit one for myself as well. I noticed, then, that Walker seemed…different, all of a sudden. For one thing, his head was shaven. He’d always liked his hair a bit longer, but when had he done that? I…suddenly couldn’t remember either look very clearly. He was also bigger–more muscular. His shoulders made his neck look smaller, his arms bulging from bicep to forearm, and I could see his cock was substantially larger than the one I’d glimpsed in the showers before.

“Well Bailey, we finally had ourselves a fuckin’ breakthrough!” Walker said, puffing smoke with that cocky grin on his face he makes when he figures out a clue, “Yeah, the two of us have made some very good headway, isn’t that right, Richard?”

Dream Camp (Part 4)

For a long while, nothing. Barry is there, and yet he isn’t, because you can’t be nowhere. He can sense this nowhere is his space, that nothing will happen tonight, that he will just sleep, but something is coming. He can feel it, drawing closer, the sensation of two universes colliding, and then they do. He is now somewhere, but he doesn’t know where. It feel alien. He feels like an intruder. This isn’t his, he knows that, but doesn’t know what it means.

A voice, someone crying. He looks up, and Christian comes through a doorway, eyes red.

“Have you seen my daddy?”

Something is wrong. He shouldn’t be here. Barry can’t move, but his lips are moving, he is speaking.

“I don’t know where he went.”

Christian is close now, no longer crying.

“That’s ok, you’re here. You can be my daddy now.”

Barry tries to tell him that he can’t, but he can’t respond. He can, however, feel himself changing. Growing taller, growing older. He is naked suddenly. He sees his gut sprouting hair, first brown, like his, then changing black, matching Christian’s hair, then sprinkled with white. He feels so strong, but also so out of proportion.

“You’ll be the biggest daddy, the manliest daddy. You’ll never leave me.”

More hair is filling in, so thick down the center of his gut that he can’t see the skin, tingling all over his back and down to his ass. His cock is growing, now close to a foot long, his balls heavy and churning with cum. He’s growing taller as well, the room growing with him, but Christian is small. Small, so small, he needs to be taken care of, his son, he needs to care for his son.

“You love me daddy. You love me so much, more than anyone else, ever.”

Care for him. Love him. Make love to him. Kiss him. Kiss his son, taste him, make him feel safe, make him feel good. He loses track of what happens, but his boy is with him, and his boy is safe. He loves him, he loves him so much, he’ll love him forever…

Barry wasn’t sure what time it was–from inside the tent, it looked like morning twilight, but Barry couldn’t hear anyone outside, which meant, thankfully, that it wasn’t quite time to get up yet, and he rolled over, finding his son in the sleeping bag next to him, and pulled him close. He knew that it was wrong, that whatever had happened in their dreams, that he needed to try and fight this, but why would he? he loved Christian, he loved him more than anything…but he felt…small, though his son didn’t stay that way for long. As Barry embraced him, he felt his son start expanding–becoming taller, thicker, hairier. Still not as big or hairy as his dad, but he had most of puberty left to get through, after all. Slowly, gently, he pressed the head of his huge cock to his boy’s pucker, slipping it inside, his son accustomed to taking his dad’s massive girth–hell, Christian was the only man Barry had ever fucked to the hilt, who’d had enough practice to take all fourteen inches of his cock, but that was only because the two of them fucked day and night. Neither of them could help it–their heavy, brimming balls demanded it.

Barry reached around, stroking his son’s eight inch cock, feeling him stir as his dad penetrated him, groaning and grunting, pushing back, eager to feel his dad stuff him full, and Barry leaned in, next to his son’s ear, gave him a deep growl, and said “Good morning, son–I love you,” in a voice much, much deeper than he’d ever imagined coming from his throat.

“Oh…daddy…” Christian moaned, but he only really could focus on his father’s cock in his hole, how much he needed it, how happy he was to finally have a daddy who would never leave him–who would love him forever, no matter what.

Hopeless (Part 3)

You stumble into the parking lot, still pumping cum out the bottom of your shorts, where it’s running down your thick, hairy legs. There’s something wrong with you. Well, of course there is something wrong with you, you’re worthless, but this is different. You’d gone so long without cumming, for weeks–or maybe even months, you couldn’t quite remember, and now that the dam had been broken, your gut was churning, your balls are aching, you’re sweating from head to toe. People stare, no–gape at you plodding to your car, mouth open, snorting, eyes wild. You throw open the door and go to climb in, but hit your head on the frame, your knees scrunched under the wheel. It isn’t until you process the fact that the space is smaller than usual that you manage to reach under your seat, past your massive cock, and shove the seat as far back as it will go. Is this even your car? Your key worked, it…smells like you, but it doesn’t feel right. You shut the door and immediately feel claustrophobic, panting and panic rising in your chest, but you have to get home, you’ll be safe at home, you aren’t safe here.

It’s a fifteen minute drive to your home from the gym, and it’s harrowing. Your bones ache, muscles pulse. More than once, a sudden, full body spasm of growth sends you speeding forward or swerving into other lanes–the fact that you don’t end up in an accident or arrested is a minor miracle. You park, throw open the car door, and manage to squeeze yourself free of the confines of the car, whimpering and moaning. The exit is anything but graceful, and you end up toppling out face first onto the pavement, but you’re free, at least. you grab the car door to help yourself up, but when you pull on it, rather than gaining any leverage, you feel the car door bend down in the frame towards you instead, the car tipping slightly to the side as you drag yourself up. It’s so…small, like one of those clown cars at the circus. You abandon it, running for your apartment, and your shorts finally can’t bear the pressure of your package and thighs, bursting at the seams, your foot and a half long cock and massive balls flopping out into the open, your shirt following soon after–you tear away the tattered remains once you reach your door, crouching in the hallway, fumbling with the keys you’d kept in your hand, but they’re so small and you’ve grown so clumsy that you can’t fit the key in the lock–in frustration you simply start pounding on the door–and it opens.

Without worrying how, you start the next task of finding some way of squeezing through the doorway, the only thought you have is making it inside. You end up pushing yourself in sideways–you’ve grown much too tall to walk in, and your shoulders are too broad. It’s close, but you squeeze inside, heaving for breath, feeling your body continue growing as you do…and you realize you’ve trapped yourself. There’s simply no way you’ll be able to fit yourself back out–but why would you want to leave? Out there, all there are are people who will stare at you, look at you like you’re a freak–because you are a freak. You don’t want to go out there, you don’t want to leave. Your trainer, who’d opened the door for you, closes it behind you but doesn’t lock it–you don’t even notice that he’s there until he standing beside you, stoking one massive, hairy arm, talking to you, calming you down bit by bit, that buzzing sound returning, and soon you’re shivering at his touch, at his words–and you realize that you are sitting down on the ground–and he’s standing next to you–but he barely comes to your shoulder. How…how big are you, really? How big is your cock? It doesn’t seem real, hanging there between your legs. You must be at least ten feet tall–far too tall for your ceilings. The only way you’ll be able to move from room to room is by crawling…but is this even your apartment? Now that you’re more calm, this doesn’t…seem familiar. The floorplan is too open, there’s almost no furniture…where did you drive yourself, anyway? Where did you just trap yourself?

“Look at you, you’re a beast–a gigantic, disgusting beast,” he says, walking around you in a wide circle, taking all of you in–the hairy body, the long beard, the massive cock and balls, “You’re going to be so popular, so many people have been waiting for you to finally blow.”

You have no idea what he’s talking about, and he doesn’t elaborate. You try to talk, but words…don’t come easily to you anymore, and he has no interest in anything you might ask or want to know. He leaves you alone–but you don’t feel abandoned. For the first time in a long time, you feel safe. The the men begin arriving. You have several visitors each day, and all of them come for one reason–to abuse your massive cock. The ride it, they worship it, the suck it, they drink your cum by the gallon. None of them care about you, about the body attached to this marvelous beast of a cock–but then, why should they? You know you’re worthless, unworthy of anyone’s attention. You’re simply happy to know that there’s one part of you which is worthy of desire and that’s enough for your simple mind. The only person who sees you is your trainer–no, your owner now–when he visits. He comes every few weeks–you look forward to those visits more than any other, because finally, he has allowed you to serve him. You pull him close, gently, lick him clean from head to toe, worship his cock and balls with your mouth, letting him know how thankful you are. How thankful you are that he has given you purpose. How thankful you are that a hopeless, giant-cocked beast like you, could ever hope to be owned by a man like him.

Hopeless (Part 2)

I have a comment I want to make on the inspiration for this story, but I felt like it would be best to wait until I posted this second part, where it becomes more obvious what I’m talking about. This story, as it ended up being written, is the fault of @noodlesandbeef and all of his recent posts on big dick humiliation. I wouldn’t say the story is *for* him necessarily, because it’s also filtered through the rest of my own perversions and came out…uh…slobby, but I’ll dedicate it to him anyway. So here’s to you–thanks for your awesome blog, and for making me think of fetishes that don’t cross my mind very often. 

You watched him drive away, certain that this had to be…some cruel joke. The way he’d consoled you, he had to care about you, right? Then again, why would he care about you? You were a mess. Filthy, sweaty, stupid–so fucking stupid! How could you have just said something like that to him, to the only man in your life who cared about you. Still, he had told you to go home, so you got in your car and drove home. However, once home, you had no idea what to do.

Your apartment was filthy. You had always done a good job of cleaning up after yourself, but ever since you’d met him, you’d just…started letting things slide. First it was a bit of clutter, then you stopped doing the dishes, and now you hadn’t done laundry in weeks, everything you owned stank to high heaven, and the whole apartment was littered with empty take out, since you couldn’t even think hard enough to try and cook. You’d probably just burn everything anyway, or hurt yourself trying. Worthless…fucking worthless! Just…just a big pile of nothing.

Your cock tingled at the thought, which was odd. As turned on as you’d been lately, with your personal trainer, and all of the fantasies you’d been thinking about, you’d actually been jacking off less than usual. More often than not, it simply hadn’t occurred to you to jack off, and even when you’d been horny, thinking about him, your cock had been hard, but you hadn’t touched it. Now, however, you pushed your hand into your pants and started rubbing it, thinking…thinking again.

I’m hopeless.

Your cock was raging now, and you pushed some trash off the couch and laid down, slowly stroking your cock.

I’m a just a dumb brute with a big cock. I can’t even hold down a stupid job.

Fuck, you were so horny! Your cock was leaking as you demeaned yourself, over and over again, thinking about all of your recent failures, how hopeless you are, and it felt…it felt so damn good, but you couldn’t cum. You jacked your cock for hours and hours, but though you leaked a copious amount of precum into your nasty jock and the front of your gym shorts, you never reached any sort of satisfaction. You couldn’t even jack off right–but that thought only made you even more crazed with lust. It was only when you reached the point of exhaustion and hunger that you finally stoped, ordered some take out you can’t afford anymore, and ate. When you finished, you tried again, but it was like your balls were locked shut, and no matter what you did, you would never be able to cum. That didn’t stop you, you weren’t even sure you could stop, as you fantasized about all the ways you’re slowly ruining your life. Eventually, you collapsed back on the couch, and fell into a fitful sleep. He’s there, in your dreams. You don’t…deserve him. He’s amazing, and you’re completely worthless. A failure. No wonder he left you, you’ll never deserve him. You don’t deserve anyone–you deserve to be alone.

The next day, you arrive at the gym…late. He’s waiting for you, but he doesn’t seem surprised. If anything, he seems to be expecting you to arrive late, and the simple failure…it makes your cock leak in your nasty, crusty shorts that you didn’t even bother changing before you came. After all, you like it. You like other people seeing what a nasty thing you are. How badly you smell, how stupid you are, it makes you feel so good, and you want him, this man you love, you want…you want him to hate you, to see that he’s wasting his time on you, that you don’t deserve him, that you never deserved someone like him. That you are, and always were, a hopeless wreck.

All day, you fuck up on purpose…or maybe you can’t tell the difference anymore. You lift wrong, you plateau and backslide, you spot poorly. Still, he’s nothing but supportive and enthusiastic, his usual self. But behind his usual smile, you see it, that…sly grin of his, and that buzzing, it’s so loud in your head, you can barely hear him sometimes, what he’s telling you. He talks so much, but why talk to you? You barely understand anything that comes out of his mouth. Your workout is long today, much longer than normal. The next several days, the workouts are equally long. You know you should work on finding a job–you have some savings, but they’ll only be able to pay your bills for a few months. Soon, you think differently. You deserve to be unemployed–in fact, knowing you do nothing with yourself, that you have wasted your life doing nothing, it turns you on. Seeing what you’ve become in the mirror, fuck–your cock refuses to go down, it leaks constantly all over the benches and the machines. You’re huge now, so huge, with a thick beard all over your face, your hair down past your shoulders, massive pecs, thick legs, mouth open and drooling almost constantly. The only part of you that isn’t muscled is your gut, bulging from your constant diet of take out and pizzas, but that bit of failure only makes you look hotter, in your eyes.

Until a day comes, and you arrive at the gym, only to discover that he isn’t there–instead, the person waiting for you is the manager of the gym. He informs you that so many members of the gym had complained about your behavior and hygiene, as well as that of your friend’s, that the two of you will be permanently banned from premises. The manager telling you that, somehow it does something nothing else had been able to do, and even as he continues speaking, your balls tense up, you let out a groan, the first blast of cum erupting from your cock, soaking the front of your shorts. Your go weak and fall to your knees, and the orgasm last for what feels like an eternity, everyone in the gym turning to stare at you, the cum now leaking down your leg to the floor it an amount so copious you couldn’t even believe it was yours. The manager threatens to call the police; you stagger up and out of the building, your cock still pumping out a trail behind you, and into your car, where you pull down your soaked shorts, and discover your cock has somehow grown even more massive in the space of a minute–it’s now a foot and a half long and incredibly thick, your balls each the size of baseballs, and still pumping out cum. How could this even happen? It’s so large, you’d never be able to fuck anyone–it’s just…just obscene and pointless and nasty, like the rest of your whole life. So worthless that…that all you can only think about is going home and…and milking your worthless, disgusting cock over and over again.

Hopeless (Part 1)

You met him at the gym, but whether it was by accident, or by a choice he made, you never found out. He asked you to spot for him on the bench press so he could push his max, and you were willing to help him out. You’d seen him at the gym before, but had never thought much of him–probably in his mid 30’s, bearded with a shaved head, a bit hairy. Muscular, but with a small gut all the same. On the bench, while you guided the bar up and down, you listened to him grunt, your eyes focusing on the curve of belly that appeared, inch by inch, as he lifted, an odd…buzzing in your head, vision tunnelling slightly, until he failed, and you snapped back, helping him rack the weights back, your head still…fuzzy. You worked through a few more sets with him, and then he offered to help you, counting for you as you pressed. You couldn’t lift nearly as much as him, but he encouraged you, he made you feel…good. You parted ways with a handshake, and from that then on, you noticed him more and more, every day, and both of you struck up an acquaintance, spotting each other from day to day.

He wasn’t the first guy you’d been attracted to, but he was…different. The way he made you feel, when you were close to him, it was something you’d never felt before. At the same time, life outside of the gym started to become more…difficult. You found yourself messing up at work more often, you felt…exposed in public. Friends you’d known for years were suddenly saying strange things–that you seemed distant and disconnected, that you were quieter and didn’t talk as much. You felt hurt at their comments, and saw them less, even as you started going to the gym more. Whether that was because you simply had more time, or because, at heart, you wanted to see him more, you couldn’t tell. You couldn’t quite be honest with yourself yet, could you?

Still, he never pushed you away. He never said you were too quiet, or too disconnected. Without really noticing when it had happened, he’d taken control of your workouts, almost becoming your personal trainer. You would arrive early and wait for him–the idea of working out without him felt…wrong. Scary, even. You might hurt yourself, or do something wrong, if he wasn’t there, watching over you. He pushed you away from your cardio focus, and you began lifting more, and longer. It was exhausting, but you were doing so good! You could see it, too. You were bulking faster than you’d ever imagined possible…but it was more than just muscle. You seemed…taller, too, although you convinced yourself that was probably your imagination. Your cock, too–it seemed longer. Thicker. It felt thicker when you jacked off, thinking about him, about your trainer, about…about how good he made you feel.

Without really noticing, the gym became the center of your life, and he was the center of your workout. Everything else was driver further and further to the periphery, so when your boss called you into his office, it felt like…some strange intrusion. You hoped it wasn’t more work he needed you to do today–you wouldn’t want to be late for your workout. You knew that your work had been slipping, but when he laid it all out in front of you: the missed deadlines, the simple errors, the poor presentations, your unprofessional appearance, the ill fitting clothes, your lack luster hygiene, it made you…feel so small, even though you towered over him. You wished your trainer had been there, so that you wouldn’t…have had to care. So that comfortable buzzing could have taken over, so he could have just…just told you what to do, what to say. You had no excuse, no reason to give, you could barely even speak at all. Your boss had only been planning on reprimanding you, but somewhere in the one-sided conversation he decided to just cut you loose entirely. You packed up your things, and didn’t know what to do–so you went to the gym, and you waited.

It was hours before the two of you were supposed to meet for your workout, but what else could you do? It was so hard to…to think, to make a decision. You felt paralyzed. But he…he was so confident, and he was so…such a natural leader, and you had to follow, you had to. When he arrived, you tried to tell him what happened, but getting the words out was difficult. Talking, in general, had become more and more difficult lately, and the buzzing when you were near him only made it worse, the stuttering, the words missing from your vocabulary, you couldn’t get it out, and so you just worked it out. You worked out, hoping that would help you focus, but all you felt was dimmer. It made you feel hopeless, and even more overwhelmed than before. What was wrong with you? You hadn’t always been like this. Thank goodness he was here, watching out for you, or else you would probably hurt yourself so much. At least you were looking good, looking bigger. With his help, you’d been packing on the pounds lately, and even the beard was looking better, now that you’d been growing it for a few months, though your hair was lank and greasy, and…just ugly. You stank too–when had you taken a shower last, or brushed your teeth? You hadn’t been taking care of yourself, not at all. You were disgusting, you were filthy, and ugly and…and you hated it.

You hated yourself, and there, on the bench, you started sobbing. You’d been trying to keep it inside, trying to ball it all up, but you had no guard left anymore, and you were certain, as soon as he saw how weak you really were, he’d leave. Abandon you, forget about you–worthless, hopeless you…but he didn’t. He sat down next to you, and put his arm around your now hulking shoulders, cooing at you, consoling you. The buzzing grew a bit louder, and you, slowly, calmed down. When you felt up to it, you continued your workout, and things felt…easier, for the moment, until you were finished…and he walked away from you in the parking lot.

Of course he was walking away, he had his own home, but the terror that gripped you, when he did, was something you couldn’t comprehend, and you started following him, chasing after him, and caught up to him as he climbed in. He saw you there, the desperation on your face. “Don’t….leave me…” you said, those three words so inadequate to how you felt, but the only three you could find in your empty head.

He thought for a moment, looking you over, and said, “Go home, I’ll see you tomorrow.”