Mr. Lear’s Buddy (Part 3)

Things were different for Buddy from then on, when he finally woke early Saturday afternoon, from his very long sleep. He’d…tried to resist. He really had, at first, but once he’d understood how…how good it could feel, how wonderful it was to have someone like Mr. Lear inside him, guiding him, controlling him, it was easier to just…let go. Together, Mr Lear and Buddy spent the next hour or so jacking off–for real now–exploring his young, husky body, Buddy amazed at the range of pleasure the old man could bring out in him. Sure, he’d jacked off before, but it had never felt like…like this. It was no wonder people jacked off so much, if you knew what you were doing, of course. And Mr. Lear had shown him that Buddy had no idea at all, what he was doing. He’d just been…floundering all this time, in desperate need of someone’s help. Well now he didn’t have to do anything at all. Mr. Lear would do everything for him! All he had to do was go along for the ride.

He felt a bit bad for his dad, however. He eventually came up to his son’s room to investigate the moaning he’d heard, over the din of the television downstairs. He opened the door, and was appalled at what he saw–his son covered in his own cum, jacking off openly under his roof like some…some fucking faggot! Buddy’s dad wasn’t all that much brighter than his son. He hadn’t even managed to graduate high school, ending up working away his life in construction. he was a big brute, heavily muscled with a thick full beard–it didn’t take much effort for Mr. Lear to have him on top of his own son, drooling, licking up the cum from his skin, disgusted with himself at his own actions but unable to do anything to stop himself.

But what to do with him? Such a horrible little man couldn’t be allowed to just continue being…horrible, after all. Mr. Lear started by stealing most of his cock. Buddy had been modestly endowed–around four inches, his father was a bit larger, at six. Together, however, Buddy’s body was wielding a ten inch, incredibly thick cock, and his father was left with not even a dicklet, but a dimple and a hole. He was humiliated at the sight of himself–which gave Mr. Lear a horrid idea–so he forced his new father to take any number of pictures of himself, in all sorts of demeaning positions and in his wife’s underwear, and made him start posting them online–his face exposed of course. He couldn’t stand it, but the thrill for him was so powerful, he started compulsively oozing from his new cumhole.

Mr. Lear had no real interest in returning to school–he already had enough knowledge to satisfy multiple PhDs, but his new body needed at least a high school diploma. When Buddy suddenly stopped failing classes, some of his teachers thought it was a miracle–the hopeless student, not just uncaring, but too stupid to really know what caring was–suddenly improved. Was he cheating? No one could prove anything–but some of the teachers found out the truth, soon enough.

Mr. Sonders, for example. He was easily the fattest teacher at the school, weighing in close to six hundred pounds, though this year he’d resolved to lose as much of it as he could–at least until Buddy’s body showed up at his desk one day after school. Mr. Sonders, Buddy discovered, had been Mr. Lear’s pet piggy–and while he put up quite a fight against falling back under his master’s control, he was soon crawling around the floor, squealing and oinking, begging his master’s forgiveness for daring to lose any of the weight he’d worked so hard to gain. In a matter of months, he was larger than ever, and as punishment he could no longer cum without his mouth packed with food–or a cock.

The football coach was equally unhappy to discover Mr. Lear was back from the grave, but he too, was back to his old habits before too long–no longer showering or changing his clothes, licking out the locker room urinals and toilets after practice, wetting the bed each night in his bachelor pad, since his wife had long since left him after his hygiene had first slipped. One thing that was unforgivable, however, was that he had shaved off his long, grungy beard, and cut his hair. As penance, his hair began growing incredibly fast–he had his old beard back by graduation, and it would only be getting longer–and filthier.

Buddy had no real hope of getting into college, of course–not with his abysmal track record in school. That didn’t seem to bother him, however, and he took on a conveniently open janitorial position at his old high school, and moved out on his own, into Mr. Lear’s still vacant house. After a few months, his father and mother divorced–his photos had finally been found online by his wife and work buddies. He was forced to quit his job out of shame, and move in with his son as his personal maid and slave. The brute spent his days in woman’s panties and heels, but Mr Lear forced him to work out even more and start juice up, turning him into a massive muscle monster bottom, filming slutty, humiliating videos for his online fans…and that was the last Buddy saw of him…of anything, actually.

He’d been fading for a while now, as Mr. Lear took over more and more space up in his mind. Before too long, even he wasn’t sure he existed anymore–when Mr. Lear finally convinced him that his existence was simply an impossibility, he finally winked out entirely, leaving his body to his Master, for the rest of his new life.

The Bathroom of the Lost (Part 3)

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

The Bathroom of the Lost (Part 2)

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

The Ideal Body Program (Part 2)

Three years turned passed at times slowly, and at times quickly. When he was awake and working out, following the compulsory workouts to the exact directives ingrained in his mind, the days seemed to fly by in a daze of counting and exhaustion. But when he spent days staring at his computer screen, desperately fighting it’s newest demands over and over, trying to resist in whatever way he could, every minute seemed to drag out into a lifetime. He fought so hard, in fact, that by the end of the first year he had fallen behind schedule. To Jerry, this felt like a victory–he could beat this thing, he could fight the program if he could just keep his wits about himself. Unfortunately for him, the program had come to the same conclusion.

He didn’t notice it much at first. He assumed he was just tired and exhausted from the diet and routine the program had forced on him. That he was just having a hard time focusing. But then he began noticing that he was having a hard time spelling and writing anything beyond simple one or two syllable words. By the time he realized what must be happening, it was too late, the hypnosis wearing his mind down further and further until all Jerry could manage to write was his name–not that three letters were too hard to remember, since he started going by Jer at the gym, instead of Jerry. Without a mind to resist, by the end of the second year Jer had gained all of his lost ground, and was even ahead of schedule, which made him happy. The program was proud of him after all, and he was looking like a real brute. Because the program now expected him to be finished with his program six months early, Jer was given the choice of some additional programs he could add to his ideal body and future life.

Of course, without much of a mind–and without any capacity for imagination, he was having a hard time trying to come up with anything that he might want. The best he could do was a request that he get even bigger–more muscle “super extra huge” as he told the program. Thankfully the program was willing to make suggestions, and while he wasn’t quite sure what a “man whore” was, if it meant he’d have sex, then he wasn’t going to complain. He liked sex, and he liked playing with his cock. Looking at his hard body made him hard too, and why not put that to good use?

The drugs began arriving not soon after that, and his muscle’s exploded in size, so large that he was having trouble moving, but fuck that, he looked so damn hot! especially with the foot long cock and huge balls he’d developed as well, thanks to whatever the program was sending him. The program began bombarding him sex–porn videos, sex toys, all sorts of things to practice his new profession with, but he thought it was odd that all the people the program was showing him, the kinds of people he was becoming attracted to, weren’t people like him. No, they were older–much older. And fat, and hairy. He thought that was odd, but his head couldn’t put up much of a fight. before too long, he couldn’t imagine being attracted to anyone else. If anything, his hulking body kind of disgusted him, but what could he do about it? It was his money maker. The dates started not too long after that.

Thankfully the program supplied him with an ample number of clients. Generally, he would wake up and eat, before immediately launching into his massive daily workout. Then, around five he would shower, put on whatever outfit his john had requested for the evening, and meet him for that night’s date. Sometimes they wanted to have dinner, and he’d be dressed in a suit and tie. He couldn’t make conversation, but he knew how to suck cock between courses in the bathroom. Other times they’d skip the niceties entirely, and just send him a hotel room where they’d meet. The worst, however, were the ones who’d have him come right to their house, usually in some strange leather or rubber get up supplied by the program. Those were the twisted ones–making him drink piss, fisting his tight hole, whipping and paddling him until he begged them to stop. But he did…like it. He liked being a whore. He liked having sex with these perverts, and they certainly paid him handsomely–not that he kept much of it.

Even after the three years had elapsed, he’d opted to remain in IBP’s maintenance program. It cost a lot, but the program always made sure he had a steady supply of clients and drugs to keep his massive size steady. Still, when he looked at himself in the mirror, he couldn’t help but feel like something had gone horribly wrong. He could…kind of remember who he’d been, before all of this. The memories were fuzzy…but hadn’t he been kind of like the men he had sex with every night? Wealthy? Sexy? Confident? He kind of…envied them, a bit. They seemed to have everything under control–including him. All Jer could do was lift heavy things, take a foot long cock down his throat without gagging, and turn heads when he walked down the street. When the program gave him a feedback form and he said he was only somewhat satisfied, the program put those concerns to rest permanently with another round of hypnosis. Finally, Jer was just a perfectly happy, musclebound man whore for the rest of his days.

The Ideal Body Program (Part 1)

Who had time to go to the gym anymore? He certainly didn’t, but that fact didn’t exactly make him feel much better about the reflection in the mirror. Jerry had hit thirty a few years ago and that had been fine, aside from some mild existential angst which had gone away, but it was looking like forty was going to be the real hurdle. Work had always been the focal point of Jerry’s life, and with his youthful metabolism he’d always been able to keep his slender figure as well–but that was changing, and he knew there was nothing he could do about it…aside from maybe getting a gym membership. But who in the hell had time? He gripped his small belly, pinching the fat with his hands, and frowned, thinking of all the older upper level managers with their guts and their drinks after work and their stupid, unfunny jokes he forced himself to laugh at even after hearing them often enough to have them memorized. That would be him. That was going to be him, if he didn’t do something about it, but what could he do?

Like most people with a dream and too little time to invest in it, he started looking for shortcuts. Try a fad diet? He picked out a couple, but he knew none of them would deliver any sort of lasting results. He did end up getting a gym membership, but aside from a few introductory sessions with a trainer, he could never quite line up a schedule to go consistently. All, the while, we watched his body round out a little more each day. Just was he was working up the mental will to resign himself to a rotund fate, he found something new, something called “The Ideal Body Program.”

It seemed simple enough. All he had to do was put in information about himself and his current habits and lifestyle, and then give some details regarding what kind of body he would like to have, and the program’s algorithm would generate the perfect diet and exercise program for him, tailored both to his current lifestyle and the body of his dreams. It seemed like a dream come true, and the questionnaires were free to fill out–if exceedingly detailed. He’d thought some of the dating websites he’d signed up for had been painful–this was something else entirely. It took him nearly an entire weekend to finish all of the questions in all the required detail, but it would be worth it, right? All this work in the front end would mean he could finally have a solution to his problem.

But what was his ideal body? He’d always been on the slender side, and the idea of being like those fat older men disgusted him, but what did he really want to be? Truthfully, he’d always sort of wished he could be more muscular. He’d always…idolized those jocks back in school, who could work out, that sort of…powerlifter body. He’d dated a few, and by and large they had been boring, dull souls, but fuck, they’d been sexy as hell in bed, even if he hadn’t managed a relationship with any of them. But that’s what he wanted, he wanted to look like that. Big arms, wide chest, thick tree trunk legs. Sure, he’d have to buy all new suits–hell, a new wardrobe, but it was an ideal body right? Why not indulge in a little fantasy?

The forms were finished, he double checked them all and submitted them for processing. It took around an hour for a confirmation email to appear in his email inbox, alerting him to the fact that his personalized plan was prepared for him, but he discovered he wouldn’t be able to see the plan until he’d paid the full fees required–which turned out to be three years in advance, and at 100 dollars a month…well, that turned out to be quite a substantial sum of money. He thought about it for the rest of the day. There was no way he could spend that kind of money on this…but what did he really expect? Still, three years was a long time, but the company promised results. In fact, there was a guarantee that if the plan didn’t perfectly fit their schedule and give them their ideal body, they could have their money back. So…he did it. He put in his account information (the site refused to take credit cards) and hit submit, navigated through his site to his personal plan of action, and all it said was: “Quit your job. Once you have quit your job, further instruction will be given. Are you ready to quit your job?”

And below, a yes and no button.

It couldn’t be serious. He wasn’t going to quit his job! This was supposed to fit his schedule, not ruin it. He clicked the no button, and the screen was suddenly filled with a swirling, colorful patterns. He stared at it for a moment, his consciousness draining away, just focusing on the pattern. Every half hour, the sentence “Are you ready to quit your job?” would appear with another yes and no prompt–his hand would come alive for a moment, and he kept pressing no, but slowly, his hand lost its urgency. It began hovering over the yes button, until finally, at last, he clicked it, and the pattern evaporated, leaving Jerry blinking at his computer screen, unable to believe he’d just lost seven hours…but he had something he had to do. He called up his boss and told him he wouldn’t be coming in ever again, that he had to free up his schedule, that he wouldn’t understand. He knew it was wrong, but he couldn’t stop himself…and since he’d already prepaid for three years in hard cash, he didn’t think he’d be stopping himself any time soon.

The Fetish Gun (Part 7)

Jeff held down the trigger for a few moments, before releasing it; the light dying away and revealing Ben once again. He was essentially the same, but with a few very important differences, the most obvious being the thick chain necklace he now wore, with an industrial padlock holding it together Jeff had no idea where the key was–he’d lost it ages ago, but that didn’t matter. As far as either of them was concerned, Ben would never be taking it off for the rest of his life. Jef stepped closer to him, their combined musk overwhelming them both, wrapped one hand around the back of his pup’s neck, feeling the lank, greasy hair in his grimy fingers, and thrust his tongue into Ben’s eager mouth, tasting him for the first time, and for the thousandth.

This wasn’t the first time Jeff had been subjected to setting C. When his friend had found the gun, that was the setting he’d used to turn him into his duplicate uniform master. What he hadn’t expected was for the changes to flow in both directions this time. Granted, the first time he’d been perfectly neutral, so perhaps that explained why his former half hadn’t changed at all. Still, that was something to figure out later–he pushed down on Ben’s shoulders, and his pups knees immediately buckled, hauling out his master’s pungent cock just in time to catch a facefull of piss blasted across his face.

“What…happened? Why I so…fuck…*moooooaaann*…”

Jeff looked over to where the now incredibly freakish cow on the other side of the couch. He chuckled to himself as he pissed down his pup’s throat, and pointed the gun at Wade, who was still helplessly twisting his massive, leaking nipples.

“Nooooo…” he groaned, trying to back away, but there was nowhere for him to go.

“Don’t you worry–I’m just going to help you become the cow you were always meant to be–the cow you want to be, I’m sure,” Jeff said, and pulled the trigger. After a few seconds, he released it, and Wade stood there, all intelligence drained from his eyes. He was no longer even capable of speaking–just grunting, moaning, and mooing of course. His body was relatively unchanged, aside from the fact that he was covered in a tattoo pattern of brown spots and the word “COW” etched across his forehead, a heavy steel door knocker pierced through his septum hanging lower than his lips, and a chain collar similar to Ben’s, but this one hooked to a cow bell resting on Wade’s massive chest.

He’d finished pissing, and his pup had moved onto his usual blow job, happily sucking at Jeff’s cock, desperate to be of service to his master. With his two targets relatively neutralized, Jeff finally had a chance to inspect the damage which had been done to him, when Wade had shot him earlier, and he inspected himself, and his mind, getting to know his new self. Physically he was similar–aside from some of his musculature being traded for a layer of fat–but that helped him and his pup stay warm in the winters as they travelled on their bikes. A couple of filthy, nasty derelict bikers, that was them–a gang of two, bathing in piss, drinking cum, going from city to city, robbing and raping as they went, taking what they needed before taking off again.

Part of him was disgusted–but he was used to that at this point. That bit of him, that old quivering Jeff that he could barely remember anymore, he didn’t fucking matter. Still, should he change himself back? Give himself back his pristine uniform? His perfect body? He thought about it, watching Ben suck his cock, and decided against it. He didn’t want that anymore. Maybe he wouldn’t have wanted this before, but he wanted this now, and that was more than enough for him. Still, there was the matter of revenge on his former half, and how to deal with him.

Ray had been the one who’d found the gun–he’d started all of this. The two of them had split up tonight to try and find the guy who’d stolen it from them–but it had never really been them, now had it? Ray had always called all the shots, made all the decisions, but now he was going to be in charge–and looking at his new cow, he realized he had the perfect idea of what to do with him, when he got back to the bar for their rendezvous. Fuck, just thinking about it, he was gonna explode, and he shot his load down Ben’s throat, his pup drinking it down eagerly into his belly, before standing back up with a grin on his face. “You look like you have something dirty planned, boss,” he said.

“Heh, you know me too well, boy,” Jeff said, “Come on, I have some business to take care of tonight.” Jeff picked up a leash he usually used for his pup, but instead he attached it to the thick ring in his cow’s nose. “You too–you’re gonna love this cow–just you fuckin’ wait.”

The Fetish Gun (Part 6)

Back in his apartment, Wade settled down on the couch, parking Ben between his legs where he could suck down all the milky cum he wanted, and began experimenting with the gun on his new whore. Setting B, it seemed, was the easiest–it simply turned someone into whatever he wanted them to become. Setting A, as far as he could guess, would tailor the target to their current environment, but he wasn’t certain. Setting D amplified someone’s current form and fetishes to be even more extreme than before. That left two final settings which he had no clue about. One of them had to change people back, right? That was probably setting E–the last one. Out of curiousity, he turned the dial to E and fired it at Ben, figuring he could always change him back–but nothing happened. It was like the light wouldn’t even stick to him, or do anything at all. More confused than ever, he turned the dial to the letter C and fired it at Ben again. This time the light stuck, enveloping him in an aura like before–however when it dissipated Ben hadn’t changed at all. He fired it again at him, but like with setting E, the light refused to stick. Was it broken? Why in the world wasn’t it doing anything?

That was as far as he got, before a booted foot started kicking at his door. Ben pried himself away from Wade’s cock, who stood up and looked down the short hallway. After three kicks, the bolt broke through the door frame and the door swung open, revealing one of the uniformed men he escaped from the night before, his balls still massive, and he did not look happy. The man saw the gun in Wade’s hand and charged at him–Wade raised it up and shot him as he came crashing towards him, and the light engulfed him…and Ben, standing beside him, an umbilical tendril connecting them both together for a few moments, before disappearing. The gun had done nothing to stop the intruder’s momentum and he slammed into Wade, the gun flying from his hand behind the couch, and he began wrestling with the man on the carpet, eventually throwing him to the side, scrambling up to his feet, and finding Ben standing there, the gun shaking in his hand, the barrel pointed right at him.

The stranger stood up next to him, and the three of them remained still, allowing Wade to see what had just happened. It was clear that setting C was designed for two targets–both Ben and the man had been changed–and it looked like, to Wade, that the two of them had absorbed each other’s fetishes and lives, meeting somewhere in the middle. Both of them were dressed head to toe in leather, however it was no longer a police uniform, but appeared to be cast off biker leathers, all of it heavily worn, tattered and filthy. Wade could smell them both, in fact–Ben had stank of musk and piss as they’d come back to the apartment, and now they both did. It was clear that Ben’s obsession with piss had worn off in the other direction.

“What…what the fuck should we do with him?” Ben asked, looking at the man like a fellow conspirator, “He fucking…fucking fucked with me Jeff, we gotta, I don’t know…make him pay.”

“Look, Ben, just calm down, and give me the gun. It’s all going to be alright,” the man said…but how did he know Ben’s name? “Give me the gun, and the two of us will sort this whole thing out.”

“No!” Wade said, “No, don’t give it to him, he’ll just–” but that was as far as Wade got, before the light struck him in the chest. He assumed, at first, that the gun would still be on setting C–however, he started to feel a familiar warmth, and realized that the dial must have twisted when he’d thrown it, meaning things were about to get a whole lot worse. He tried to move, tried to reach out and deflect the ray, but his arms wouldn’t budge. It was getting harder to think, harder to focus on much of anything, but he tried to, he tried to keep himself together, until the light finally dimmed away.

Ben stared at Wade on the other side of the couch, unable to believe what he was seeing. If the man who’d accosted him in the alley had been a freak before…well, now he was even stranger. He’d lost even more height, bringing him under five feet tall, but he’d packed on even more muscle somehow, making him look like a short fleshy wall–especially his pecs, which ballooned out from his body before sagging down, made heavy by the milk inside them already seeping from his huge, two inch long nipples, running down the front of his body. His cock was nowhere to be found–just a nub over a sack of balls larger than anything Ben had imagined possible, larger than a basketball, resting on his thighs. Wade ran his hands over his body, trying to process what had happened, but his mind was suddenly too dull to do much thinking at all. There was…something about a gun, something important, but it was already fading as he started twisting his nipples with his fat hands, milk spurting from the onto the couch, his nub of a cock spurting as well, while he let out a loud, surprisingly authentic moo from his gaping mouth.

Ben was still staring at what he’d done, when Jeff (that was his name, but Ben had no idea how he could possibly know that…except how could he not? The two of them were inseparable, of course) walked up to him, and gently lifted the gun from his hands. “What…what did I just do? I didn’t mean, I…”

“Hey man, it’s alright, I know,” Jeff said, turning the dial on the gun, “Hold still, this will make everything better.”

Ben turned in time to see the gun fire, and everything disappeared in a blaze of light.

My Boys – Part 6

It was at least an hour later when the door to the motel room finally clicked open, and Bruce stepped into the room. His boys were still fucking, just as he’d hoped they would be–such good boys. The fur coating Nick’s entire body was matted to his skin and soaked with sweat–he hadn’t once removed his cock from his brother’s hole, and it had grown looser and looser, his cum spilling back out and onto the bed beneath them. Sean was doing his best to play with his own cock as his big brother fucked him–it had taken a while, but he’d eventually found a good grip that let him hold on tight past his huge gut. He too, had shot multiple loads. However, as soon as the door opened and their father stepped inside, the commands he’d given them ended, and Nick immediately hauled his cock out of his brother’s ass and stepped back, unable to believe what he’d been doing.

“Glad to see you two found someway to entertain yourselves,” Bruce stepped inside, and a man came in after him–the boys immediately recognized his as their uncle, but he looked quite a bit different from the fat cook he’d been before. For one, he was smoking, but instead of a pipe luike their daddy, he had a short, stubby cigar clamped in his jaw, chuffing smoke. He’d certainly grown back to his previous size, after Sean had drained him of cum, but the weight he’d gained back had been more equal between fat and muscle–he was still soft, but underneath it was obvious he was strong and hard, a real bull of a man. He’d sprouted quite a bit of hair as well, not nearly as much as Nick had, but he was quite furry, with a massive bulge in his jeans straining at the fabric.

“What…what the fuck did you do? This is fucking insane,” Nick said, “Change…change us back, and give us our dad back, you fucking–”

The cook stepped between Bruce and Nick, and gave the boy a hard smack across the face, which sent him reeling into the dresser–strong was an understatement, Nick realized, and he felt a bit of fear well up in him. “You know better ‘n tah talk to yer elders like that boy. Now apologize.”

“S-Sorry…daddy…” Nick said.

“It’s alright you two–I don’t mind boys with a bit of fight in them. It keeps things interesting, and I know you’re jonesin’. Still, you might find that your uncle is less forgiving than me, and much less willing to entertain any antics. He’s rather serious, you know–I’d be careful,” Bruce winked, and then sniffed the air, “Fuck boy, you stink. Just as good as I fuckin’ remember. Git over here Jared, smell this boy’s nasty pits.”

Before Nick could stop him, the cook–Jared, apparently–hauled up one of Nick’s arms, shoved his face in his pit, and took a deep snort, “Fuck, he’s fuckin’ rank.”

Nick hadn’t noticed, but now that his dad had pointed it out, he could smell himself, and part of him wanted to retch, and go take a shower. He started for the bathroom, but Jared grabbed him by the wrist and hauled him back, throwing him onto the other bed, while Sean struggled with his fat form to simply sit up.

“Now boys,” Bruce said, “I’m gonna have to spend a few days away–Daddy’s got some very important business to attend to, so we can have a good future together, as a family. So while I’m gone, ya’ll are just gonna be good boys, and wait here at the motel for me. Jared’s gonna be lookin’ after both a ya, so you’re gonna have tah do everything he says, you got it? You’ll do it, and you’ll like it, whether you want to or not.”

He paused a moment, looking from one boy to the other, and then picked up a plastic bag he’d brought in with him, and pulled out, first, several cans of chewing tobacco. Nick barely understood what happened next, as he took the cans from his hands, opened one, and stuffed as much of the leaf in his mouth as he could, until he had two bulging wads pushing out his cheeks on each side, and he sighed, the headache and anger he’d felt ebbing away, replaced by a calm alertness. “Fuck daddy, I fuckin’ needed that…” Nick said.

“Language, boy,” Jared said, but only glared at Nick, instead of delivering another snap.

“I know ya did–and ya’ll be needing plenty more,” Bruce said, and handed the rest of the bag to him–it was filled with tins of tobacco, and Nick resisted the urge to put even more in his mouth.

Jared had a bag of his own, which he brought over to Sean, “You boy, since ya take after me, yer daddy thought ya should smoke cigars like me, how’s that sound?”

“But I…I don’t want to smoke…” Sean said.

“Now boy, everyone in our family needs tobacco, you know that. Don’t worry, Uncle Jared is looking forward to training you–you’ll enjoy yourself soon enough. You won’t even be able to imagine having something other than a cigar in your mouth all day, every day, before too long.”

Sean opened his mouth to protest again, but Jared locked lips with him, and shoved a lungful of cigar smoke into his lungs. Nick watched them share it for a minute, his fat brother’s eyes rolled back in pleasure, and when Jared pulled away, Sean didn’t object when his uncle placed the cigar he’d had right in his boy’s teeth, and told him to “smoke up like a good boy.”

“Alright, remember, ya’ll do everything your uncle says, and most important, you wait for me. You don’t fight him, you don’t try and kill him, you be good boys, like you’d be for me, and everything will be find in a few days. I expect you two to behave. Do you two understand?”

“Yes Daddy,” they both said, and then Bruce smiled, and slipped from the room, started the car and drove off down the road with the screech of tires.

“Guess that means you’re mine boys,” Jared said, “I think we’re gonna have a grand time, don’t you?”

My Boys – Part 5

Light was streaming in through the slanted shades; the only reason Nick woke up was because the room had become uncomfortably hot in the morning sun. He’d fallen asleep on top of the covers, and he simply laid there for a few minutes, too exhausted to consider moving, trying to process everything that had happened to him the night before, and simply failing to do so. It felt like all of that had just happened to…someone else. His pants were off but his shirt was still on, though it felt incredibly tight on him, making it a bit difficult to breathe. He sat up, muscle aching, and tried to peel it off, but the fabric simply ripped apart as he tried, and he ended up shredding it as he pulled, looking down at himself, as this body he was inside, and he couldn’t…this couldn’t…

The hair. The fuckin’ hair. He ripped the bits of shirt away and looked down at himself. The hair was everywhere, all over him, coating him so thickly that he couldn’t even see the skin. But more than that…it wasn’t…his hair. He hadn’t exactly been hairless to begin with, he’d had a decent coating of brown hair, but this new hair, it was multicolored. Not in patches, but different colors intermixed all over, in every color, although a few seemed to be dominant–browns, a huge amount of bright red over his chest and belly, and a dingy white climbing up his shoulders and down his entire back.

He looked around the room. Sean was still in his bed, snoring louder than Nick had ever heard before. He had never managed to get undressed yesterday, and like his brother, he had simply ripped his way out of them, aside from his shirt, which was riding up on top of his belly, cupping two massive moobs like a bra. He had somehow ended up even fatter than their uncle–no, not really their uncle, that cook, just a cook!–had been before…everything that happened last night, and looking at him now, Nick could feel his cock twitching and growing, pushing it’s way out from his tangled multicolored bush to a full nine inches without even thinking much of it. Sean was rolled away from him, and he could just…just picture himself spreading that fat ass and sliding his cock right in his brother’s soft, fat hole…

He stood up from the bed, and suffered a sudden vertigo–he was at least a foot taller than he’d been before, less than a foot away from the seven foot ceilings of the motel. That was enough to snap him from his fantasy, and he tromped to the bathroom, locking himself inside before he could act on…on any of what he couldn’t stop thinking about, right now. The small bathroom was claustrophobic, and he had this buzzing in his head, and he could use a damn beer too, a beer would…would help. He turned on the sink and splashed his face with some water, but almost none of it touched his skin–his face was covered with a huge, thick beard just like the rest of him. He looked at himself, and unlike his body hair, his beard was at least a solid color–a deep red, darker than the red on his chest–and his head hair was the usual light brown…but something was wrong. He stared at himself for a minute, and he swore that he could…see his hair growing right before his eyes. Granted, his beard was massive, reaching down past his chest and curving over his taut, hard gut, but the more he watched, the more certain he was that his hair…it was growing right in front of him.

This was insane. He was going insane. He had to get out of here, he had to get help. Daddy wasn’t here, maybe he could slip out before he got back–

There was something like a psychic slap that hit him then, when he thought about leaving the room. Daddy told him not to leave. Daddy said to wait until he got back. Daddy said…said that if he was bored, then he could…he could…

Fuck…

He stepped out of the bathroom, fighting his own body, but he walked to where his massive brother was sleeping, spit a wad of saliva into his massive, paw like hand, and started lubing up his hard shaft. Spitting…that…that had felt good…He did it a few more times, getting his massive cock good and wet, but like Daddy always said, you gotta eat a man out first. It’s only polite. He got down on his knees, but still had to stoop slightly in order to get his face into his brother’s wide ass crack, probing with his tongue, scraping the sensitive skin with his beard and mustache, listening to his brother’s snores turn into moans as he slowly woke up to the attention on his ass.

“What…what happened…” Sean muttered, and then belched.

“Don’t…don’t worry bro,” Nick said, his voice much deeper, with a natural growl and drawl like their Daddy had, “Big bro’s here tah take care a ya.”

Sean screamed, but all Nick could think about was fucking, as he forced his big cock deep into his brother’s hole, running his huge hands over his brother’s soft body, kneading and groping him, ripping away his tight shirt so he could squeeze his tits and play with his meaty nipples, and before too long, Sean was sighing and panting along with him, the two brother’s rutting happily. Nick shot one load, but he kept on going–reaching down with one hand, digging around in Sean’s gunt until he found his brother’s cock and stroked him as well.

“Bro…” Sean moaned, “Bro, we gotta…we gotta stop…stop this, gotta get help.”

Nick drilled in deeper. His brother didn’t know what he was talking about. “Daddy told us tah fuck, so we gonna fuck. ‘Sides, I like how your fat ass feels ‘round my big cock, don’t you?”

Sean nodded. It did…feel good, and when his huge brother leaned over they kissed eagerly, though Sean, for some reason, thought that his brother’s mouth was…missing something. Something that was usually there, a flavor, but it…wasn’t, for some reason. Not that it really mattered. Now that he was awake, he realized how silly he’d been. Daddy had told them to fuck in the morning after all, and he did want Daddy to be happy, and he shot his wad into Nick’s hand, who licked it off, much of it ending up caught in his long mustache and beard.

“Ya don’t mind if I keep goin’, right bro?” Nick asked, “I’m still horny, and still bored.”

“Fuck my fat ass all morning, you know I ain’t got nothin’ better to do,” Sean said, and they kissed, Nick feeding his brother the cum off his beard, and shooting his second load of the morning deep inside his brother’s ass, and kept going strong.

The Fetish Gun (Part 5)

This time, he could feel it–like he had in the alley. The gun was pulling from his own thoughts, ideas and fantasies, pushing them out in the ray which enveloped the young derelict. As he watched, he saw the man shift and change as he held down the trigger for a few seconds, and when he released it, he found himself looking someone quite different. Some of him was the same, now that he looked. His clothes hadn’t really changed much–he was still in his piss soiled denim–but the man had gone from being relatively fit and trim to a much, much larger body. He looked to have gained at least fifty pounds of muscle, and he was looking at Wade, blinking…and then squinting…

“You…what the hell did you do to me?”

Tell him? Don’t tell him?

The guy pushed himself up to standing and started walking towards him–or lumbering, rather. But as he got closer, the guy’s nostrils flared out, his mouth dropped open, and he let out a moan. “F-Fuck…what’s that…smell?”

Before Wade could do anything to avoid him, the guy had rushed over and pushed him up against the wall, nose pressed to Wade’s body until he wrapped his lips around one of his fat nipples and started sucking and biting at it, his milk gushing out into the man’s mouth. Immediately he started groaning and moaning, grinding his cock against Wade’s bare thigh–the pisswet denim clammy against him, and Wade wondered what in the hell he’d done exactly, but he couldn’t think that hard with his milk flowing–he pushed the man down to his knees and freed his cock from his rubber pants again. It was already wet, and the man started drinking down his cum, sucking it freely, one hand thrust down into his jeans, massaging his own cock.

Wade looked down the alley and saw they were in full view of the rest of the world. This didn’t exactly bother him–if anything, the idea of people seeing what was happening kind of excited him. However, it wasn’t going to be very helpful for either of them to get caught by the police, especially with the gun. He pushed the guy free from his cock, as much as it hurt him to do so. “No, we need…fuck, we gotta go.”

The guy was obviously trying to sort through what had just happened to him on the asphalt, and he looked up at Wade. “What did you do? I was pissing, and then…then I couldn’t get enough, and now…fuck, your cum, I need it so fuckin’ bad. Please…”

Well, at least he wasn’t going to have to try and convince him to return home with him. “You can have all the cum you want, but you have to come back to my place with me for it.”

It was obvious that had the guy not just tasted cum which had a drug like hold on him, he never would have left his alley to go home with some stranger, much the less a rubber freak like this. But he…needed to taste it. Drink it. So he got up, and nodded. “But…but what was that thing? That thing you shot me with?”

Wade stashed the gun in his backpack again, and looked at him, wondering how much to say. “It’s…well, I don’t really know. It changed me, but I don’t know how it works. I’m trying to change back to my old self,” he lied, “but I need someone to test it out on. You’ll be back to normal by morning, if you help me, I promise. What’s your name, by the way? Mine’s Wade.”

“Ben.”

“Alright, can I get your help for the night, Ben?”

That was at least a bit of reassurance, and even though he was uneasy about his new addiction, he followed Wade out of the alley and back towards his apartment. What Wade hadn’t noticed was a dark figure hunched down at the other end of the alley, who had arrived around the time Ben had tried to whore his mouth out to him. Now, he stood up and followed the two of them at a safe distance, his uniform and body immaculate aside from a curiously large bulge at the crotch, where his grapefruit size sack was held. The uniform thought about calling his partner to help, but it would be better if he could handle this on his own, rather than involving his other half. Besides, then he could be the one in charge of the gun, rather than just playing second fiddle–yeah, he liked that idea a lot–besides, what trouble could these two give him really? Some rubber freak with a massive sack and tiny cock, and a derelict urinal cumwhore wouldn’t be any match for him, even with the gun. And then he’d be in charge–like he should have been all along.