He’d been so focused on his bicep curls, that his six pack had already disappeared by the time he set down the weight, and went to flex at himself in the mirror. He realized the reflection seemed off, but it took him a moment, and another ten pounds gained, before he realized what was happening, lifted up his shirt, and nearly screamed in the middle of the gym floor.

What the fuck was happening to him? He grabbed the flab in his hands, just to see if it was real, and discovered that…he could feel it growing and expanding. He looked around in a panic, unable to understand how something like this could even be happening, and then he ran for the locker room. He had to get to a doctor or something, he had to figure out what was wrong with him!

But by the time he got to the locker room, his clothes no longer fit. The changes had accelerated, and he pulled on his jeans just in time to have the seams ripped apart my his expanding ass. He stared at his new, hairy body in the mirror hanging over the sink, disgusted with himself, when he noticed someone watching him with a smirk…someone…he thought he should be able to recognize.

It wasn’t until he was bent over the sink, the stranger’s cock buried in his fat ass, holding his hair back, filming the video to post later, and he realized it was Ian, a massively obese guy he’d bullied for years in college, now looking slim and trim after transferring all of his fat to his old bully, and taking his muscles for himself. He was nice enough to leave him some 4XL clothes once he was finished, but for his old bully, getting clothed was only the beginning of his problems. His hole was still itching for a cock…and if he didn’t find something to plug up there, he felt like he was going to go insane.

“Who’s the fat ass faggot now?” was all Ian said as he left the locker room, and the ex-jock to his new life.

Medical Trials (Part 3)

He knew he should be more shocked than this. He tried, as hard as he could, to make himself *feel* shock. To convince himself that because things like this didn’t usually happen to bodies, what he should be registering is shock, alarm, fear, terror, but beyond a general sense of unease, Evan mostly just…looked at himself, like he’d appraise an object. As something he didn’t have much attachment to, emotionally.

Before becoming a police officer, Evan had served in the army, serving two tours in Iraq. He’d never really enjoyed his time in the army, but he had always appreciated the routine it had instilled in him. As a teenager, he’d been a bit of a troublemaker, and he appreciated the fact that the military had helped him get past that. He’d kept up his exercise and diet even after leaving the army, moving through a few jobs before he ended up in law enforcement. He’d always been told, by the various women he’d dated, that he had a strong jaw, and a stronger body, with a six inch cock he knew how to use. Beyond his muscled frame, he was moderately hairy, with more than a few tattoos he’d picked up with his army buddies.

Looking down at himself now, however, it was clear this drug–whatever it was–had already ruined him, substantially. It was the gut which disturbed him the most. It made sense, to some extent, given how much cum he’d eaten, and how full he’d felt each time. The skin was paler though, and even the stretchmarks from such rapid growth were a mild pink where they should have been violently red. He ran his hands over the surface, feeling how soft and flabby it was, and noticed that his body hair was less thick than it had been, and appeared lighter than before. He’d always kept his face clean shaven, but brushing a hand over his face, he couldn’t even feel stubble there, and even the hair on his head seemed too fine, and thinner than it had been before.

Everywhere, he’d lost muscle and replaced it with fat. He felt weak and tired, lifting his arms was tiring, and he could see several of his tattoos looked like they were fading away somehow. His skin was smooth and pale–he couldn’t have been in here long enough to lose his tan, but he looked like someone who never went outside. He’d forgotten about his cock, in all of this. He…didn’t really want to think about it, or feel it. The pain and agony of the sessions had made him slightly afraid to touch it, but he did, eventually. It was swollen and red, but also smaller–only about three inches, and his balls had shrunk quite a bit as well, each the size of a large grape. Touching himself for the first time in…days?…weeks?…he felt nothing, beyond a vague sickness in his gut, and he pulled his hand away, happy to just let the calm wash over him. Though he would feel better, if he had some cum to eat–but it wasn’t worth the pain.

He was in a room similar to the one with the chair–the same white walls, the same mirror, the same door–but this one had a small bed, a simple chair and small table, a sink and a toilet. More like a prison cell, which wasn’t exactly much of an improvement. He heard a buzz, and the door unlocked. A man stepped into the room, dressed in a well tailored suit. Evan couldn’t recall his name in the haze, but he remembered interviewing him about Trinq’s missing employees. A vice president of…research and development? He wasn’t sure, but he had a disarming smile, not that Evan cared that much. Of all the questions he wanted to ask:–“What am I doing here?” or “What have you done to me?”–the one that feel out of his mouth was, “Can…can I have some cum?”

It was the first time he’d heard his voice unmuffled in all this time, and it was higher, thinner, than it had been.

“Ah, straight to pleasure, detective? No time for business?”

“I’m just…hungry, is all.”

“Yes, I’m sure you are. We’ll get to that, don’t worry. Still, I’m mostly here to check on your progress, in our Calmura trials. Are you enjoying them? We’re working with some private prisons to develop new systems of inmate management, though we’re still trying to work out some of the side effects. Still, in your case, I don’t see anything wrong, do you? Do you like some of the changes? How do you feel?”

“I…” Evan started to say, but he didn’t know how to talk about his feelings. After a moment of silence, he just shrugged. “I don’t…like it. I think.”

“Not sure?”

“Just don’t feel much of anything, really.”

The man sighed, “I was worried seven doses would take too much fight out of you–this would have been more fun after four or five. Oh well, next time, I suppose.” The man pulled a vial and a needle out of his pocket and set them on the table. Even in the dull world his eyes were registering, he recognized the blue in the jar.

“I don’t…want any more.”

“No?” the man said, smiling. “How about we make a deal. You inject yourself with the next dose of Calmura, and I let you suck my cock. You did say you were hungry, right? Still, if you don’t want anymore, you can leave–all you have to do is walk out that door–it’s still unlocked.”

Even before he’d worked out the logic, he was sitting in the chair, readying his next dose. It was simple really. He loved cum. He needed it. If someone offered him cum, he’d do anything to get it. The man was a bit disappointed to see how well the subject had responded, the police officer finding a vein and injecting himself without any apparent reservations, and he set the needle down. “Can I suck you off now?”

The man shrugged, and pulled his cock out of his suit pants, Evan getting down in front of him and sucking, hard, eager to get his next dose of cum. Still, he wasn’t very experienced, and eventually he just let the man fuck his throat roughly, until he came, and he swallowed all of his cum down, feeling…better. It would hurt, cumming again, but this had been worth it. Cum was worth anything. Cum was priceless.

The man just shook his head, and set a beaker down on the table. “There’s probably not much left in those balls of yours, but that will give you a snack for later, right?”

He left the room, and watched Evan position the beaker under his cock, the first orgasm building, and he shot into the glass, over and over again. “Well, that was so successful, I’m almost disappointed,” he said to the scientists observing Evan, “When will he be finished?”

“Another few weeks, at least. We’ll begin his final stage of programming today, once he finishes the ejaculation phase.”

“Good. Keep me updated.”

“Yes sir.”

Hypno Me Please (Part 2)

Well? What do you think? What a difference a year makes, right?

Heh, it took two months of baby steps before I dared take him out for his first test drive–that is, before I made him take the first step down the path I’d been designing for him in my head, a path he would have never agreed to in his life. So what did I make him do? I made him cut his hair. He knew exactly what he was doing, as he went into the bathroom, powered up his razor and shaved off those beautiful locks–I watched on the cam of course, pleased beyond the belief, even if he was sobbing and furious by the end of it. I told him it made him look better, and he told me he’d never chat with me again–as if he could help it.

No, he found himself unable to resist replying to me, and if I sent a hypno file to him, he’d find himself unable to resist opening it up and watching it. He tried to tell me the files weren’t working–but the fact was, he simply hadn’t noticed what they were doing to him. He’d stopped going to the gym a month later, and look at him now–that new gut of his, those flabby arms. I’ve been considering making him gain…but I’ve had other priorities. 

See–he’s starting to like it. He won’t admit it easily, but I’m wearing him down, bit by bit. Being forced to do public cam shows for anyone who wants to watch, those new tattoos of his–and the diapers of course. I made him wear them once as punishment, and his reaction was so extreme–he sobbed for hours–that I had to make them part of his wardrobe permanently. Yes, permanently. He knows he has to wear them, but what I don’t quite think he’s noticed is how much control he’s lost over the last few months–but when I make him go a month without them, and he pisses and shits himself at work–well, he’ll be begging to be back in them soon enough. 

Still, I have a flight to catch. A little one year anniversary surprise–he gets to meet his master in person for the first time. We’re going to have so much fun for the next week, and for years to come. Oh yeah–years. What can I say? He’s worth the commitment, whether he wants it or not.

Trust me, none of these fuckers are going to make it to the end of pledge week, I can assure you that. Oh sure, we like to lead them on for a few days, but you can always tell the losers from the pack right at the beginning, they sure as hell aren’t cut out for this frat–we’re the fucking elite on campus, and we can’t have losers like them dragging us down. We’ll have them beaten to a pulp and they’ll run away with their tails between their legs–we don’t haze lightly around here. Still, I don’t know what’s up with that drink of theirs–one of them told me some upperclassman on campus gave them the brew as a good luck charm, telling them they’d get in for sure if they had some. Whatever, if someone else wants to use our reputation to make a few bucks what do I really care? But no silly drink is going to save their skins.

For pledge week, all of the new meat has to live out behind the house in a small shed we reserve specifically for the week. There’s no privacy, it’s cramped, but the real goal is to start weeding out the runts like these ones. We make sure the real pledges know who has a target on their back, and after a couple of days they’ve been hazed, beaten and ridiculed so hard by their fellow pledges they all drop out before too long. Trust me, none of these three can take that, not to mention everything else we’ll be throwing their way soon enough–they’ll be gone for sure.


Alright, so maybe things haven’t gone quite according to plan. It’s weird–we told all the freshman football jocks to break these three fuckers…but it almost seems like it happened the other way around. All of the jocks are suddenly these meek little bitches, doing whatever those three demand. There’s been some other strange things happening too–the three guys weren’t much to look at before, but all of them have packed on quite a bit of muscle…even as the freshman jocks have all lost a bit of size. Hell, I saw one guy, Kyle, in the shower–I swear he had a eight inch cock, but it’s less than an inch now. He’s packed on weight, and his uniform doesn’t fit right, like he’s a bit too short for it now. Whatever–I had a talk with the three of them, and all of them suggested they go ahead and move into the house with us. Doesn’t bother me any, we’ll beat some sense into them, and show them who’s boss soon enough.


No, this shit’s too fucked up. I have…some of the other guys have lost it, fuck, they’re just they’re fucking slaves now! And the Masters–fuck, they’re so…so fucking big now. I mean, of course they should get the house to themselves, of course us slaves should all live in the shed but…I swear things should have been different. I can remember them being different. I…I was in charge, and I can be still, if I can just keep my wits about me. Figure out what the fuck was in that drink, what’s letting them…suck the fucking life out of us, literally! Oh shit, here they come, to decide who gets to stay with them in the house tonight. God…I don’t want them to, but I can see them looking at me. If I have to spend another night between them, I don’t know if I can take it anymore.

Story Requested by @alexstrider008

Jimmy had gone to the club that night, dressed in some of his sluttier best–all spandex and rubber, stretched tight over his lithe, muscular body, blonde highlights spiked up just so, looking like every other twink there–but then again, that was the point of being a twink, right? Looking like everyone else? He felt like he belonged with them all, out on the dance floor, their muscular bodies pressed together…but tonight he found himself talking to someone different.

The man didn’t look like he belonged in this kind of club–not wearing that much leather, and certainly not with that big gut hanging over his waistband. Jimmy and a few of his friends had been pointing and laughing at him all evening, secretly hoping the fat leather fuck would get the hint, finish his beer, and leave. But…somehow (he couldn’t quite remember now, and in fact, everything was becoming oddly foggy) he had ended up next to the man in the booth, having a conversation with him. The rest of the twinks were scandalized, of course–no so much as he was, when he found himself getting up after the man and…following him out of the bar.

They ended up going into a small house, and immediately down into the basement where the stranger stripped Jimmy of his spandex, shoved him up against a wooden cross and secured his ankles and wrists to the four boards. Next, a blindfold, and then the man shoved something in his mouth–a thick tube which was narrow at first, and then widened to the point that it stretched his jaw, and pushed down his throat–making it difficult to breathe except through his nose. “That’s good, such good boy,” The man said, “Gonna get you good and big, just you wait.”

There was the sound of a pump, and then he felt something oozing through the tube, but he couldn’t do anything to stop it–he could feel some strange sludge sliding it’s way down his esophagus and right into his stomach. For a few minutes it was fine, then he felt the first pangs of discomfort, his stomach swelling–but it didn’t stop. All he could do was moan and whimper for hours, while the man went about his work. First, he heard the sound of an electric razor as his perfect hair was shorn from his head. Then, the man began toying with him–clamping his nipples and cock, edging him, filling his hole with dildos–each larger than the next.

He felt so full, but…other things too. An exhaustion crept into his body, and it was like he could feel his muscles…dissolving. Turning to jelly in him. The fog coating his mind grew thicker, and he found himself craving this feeling of fullness, craving abuse from this man, this…this master. He was happy, he could hear him, could feel him groping his…his gut. He had a gut, he could feel it hanging off him where he was bound. 

At long last, the pump ceased. His stomach ached, but already rumbled, needing more. The man hauled the tube free of his mouth, unhooked Jimmy’s wrists and ankles, and he immediately fell to his knees, hands behind his back, awaiting a command. He couldn’t see, but it was a brand new morning, as his master fucked his throat, before hooking him up for a second, even larger, feeding.

Dream Camp (Part 12)

***WARNING*** This is probably the most disturbing thing I’ve ever written, though it does have significant competition on that front. Scat, filth, snuff and anal vore–you should probably skip this one too.

Max yanked harder, but Barry’s hole had his cock in a vice grip–he could pull harder, perhaps, but he was genuinely terrified that he might end up ripping off his cock. He looked to his father in terror, and Kyle began shouting at the pig, ordering him to release his son’s cock, but Barry wasn’t listening, because he was too focused on his own strange thoughts to pay attention to his master. It…it was the amulet. It could…sense that he’d lost control, and it was…giving him an opportunity, something he could use to fight back. Without knowing exactly how, his ass began…tugging at Max’s cock, making Barry shudder with pleasure all over again, like he’d turned on a perpetual orgasm machine–and it was clear that Max felt similarly. His cock, despite being in a vice grip, came again almost immediately, and then again and again, the orgasms coming so rapidly that to Max it became excruciatingly painful. He began tugging harder, but suddenly Barry’s hole made a new motion, latching on and pulling in even more of him, swallowing not only his entire cock, but his massive ball sack as well. Max began screaming in proper terror now, yanking and tugging, no longer caring if he yanked his genitals off, but he was feeling…weaker. His muscles were fading, his body was turning pale, and as Kyle watched, his son collapsed over the pig’s back, shuddering on occasion, shrinking bit by bit, until Barry’s ass opened once more, impossibly wide, and a much smaller Max fell partway into the stinking maw, the ass slamming shut, bending him backwards with a sickening crunch–like a bug in the mouth of a frog–Kyle screaming at his son’s lifeless eyes, and with one more crunch, Max fell into Barry’s ass and was swallowed whole.

Barry only had a distant grasp on what he’d just done, but with Max now…inside of him, he could almost feel him…digesting. His own body was changing, his balls…regrowing, emerging in his fat, his cock lengthening again as well, but he was still…famished, and he looked to Kyle, and grinned.

“What…what the fuck did you do to him?” Kyle stammered, “What the fuck did you do to my boy!”

Barry just looked up at him from the muddy filth he was lolling in, felt a pressure building at his ass, and let loose a filthy, disgusting fart, the stench both horrid and yet…oddly appealing. Kyle took a step back, but the stench hit him with the force of a truck, his cock immediately hardening and leaking, unable to think about anything beyond the horrid stench of the pig’s hole…and…and how much he wanted to…to fuck it. He fought, he pulled away, even though every fiber in his body screamed at him to fuck. Barry unleashed a second fart, louder and frothy, and watched Kyle’s eyes go blank, the beast stumbling forward and around behind him, lining up his hard, aching cock, and slipped it inside, Barry immediately clamping down and milked him roughly as well, but Kyle didn’t fight, not like Max had. The…stench, it was eating away at his mind. He was happy to be fucking, happy to feel these orgasms ripping their way through his body, happy to feel his body begin withering away, as he fucked himself deeper, allowing himself to be sucked into the gaping maw, eager to be swallowed by the disgusting, dripping orifice, happy to die fucking, and his mind was gone even before he’d been swallowed up whole.

Finally, Barry could feel himself relax, his ass full of food, feeling it slowly digest, his body changing slowly as he lounged in the muck. His muscles pumped themselves up again, enough that he would at least be able to walk. His cock bulged out, his balls as well–not as large as they’d been previously, but he was at least happy to have anything at all, after everything Kyle had done to him. Hair filled in across his body once more, turning slightly silver, as he grew older once more, but he was…happy. Content, and for the moment, not hungry. The dream, he could sense, was finally beginning to fade, the nightmare finally over. 

Over…it was over, he was finally awake from that insanity. He rolled over in his tent, vaguely aware that he should still be sleeping with Kyle Hoffson…but he was alone. Alone, because apparently the old wive’s tale was true–if you die in your dreams, you really do die in real life. Or in this case…it would seem that you fail to have existed at all. That made him…feel rather uncomfortable, and his massive belly gave a loud rumble of discomfort–one he assumed was a stomach ache, until he felt his ass suddenly release, and shit spewed forth from him into his massive sleeping bag. The humiliation and embarrassment only lasted a second, until he smelled his own mess and they were both swept aside by excruciating hunger–and he began eating his own shit, grunting and snorting in his tent, piss following shortly behind, soaking the floor of his tent, and he realized he had hardly escaped that dream unscathed–and he wondered how true the final segment of it might be as well.

I’ll Make You Feel Small (Part 2)

It felt, to Trey, like an enormous shaft of pain. He’d never, ever, allowed any man to fuck him before, and he screamed, trying to claw himself away, but somehow, this fat man continued to overpower him, grabbing his arms and pinning them to his sides, weighing him down with his gut, breath hot against his neck. “How does it feel? Being helpless? Do you feel small? Well you are small. A small man–no, not even a man now. Not a man at all, you’re just a bitch, a slave. My slave–how does that sound? You don’t get to be a man anymore, no, all you are is two loose, hungry holes, ready to please your betters–but that means you’re ready to please absolutely anyone, right? Because you’re the worst, the smallest, the most pathetic thing I’ve ever had the displeasure of seeing. Now quit your crying and take it–it’s the only pleasure you’re going to get from now on.”

Trey remained quiet, listening, trying to understand how this could have happened, George focusing on inflicting as much pain as he could, but Trey’s gasps were already turning to groans, as he adjusted to the size of his cock, and he began to realize how good it felt, to take a real man’s cock in his hole.

“Listen to yourself,” George said, “Listen to you moan. Does it feel good? Being used like this? It’s disgusting, how much you enjoy it. Aren’t you disgusting? Say it. Say ‘I’m a disgusting little bitch slave.’ I want to hear you tell me what you are.”

“N-No…” Trey said, but even he knew there was no force behind it.

“Fucking say it!” George screamed at him, “Say you worthless sack of shit!”

“I’m…I’m a bitch…” Trey sobbed, “I’m…I’m a disgusting little…little bitch slave.”

“Again. Say it again.”

“I’m a little, disgusting bitch slave…”

George gave a growl, and flooded Trey’s ass with cum, gripping the bitch’s wrists hard enough to bruise as he filled him up, and then he slid himself free and stepped back, heaving for breath, looking down at Trey, at what he was now. He walked over, grabbed Trey by the hair, and dragged him over in front of a wide mirror against the wall, and in the dim light, Trey could make out his body, his…his small, worthless body–what had happened to him?

He was…short. He’d started out taller than this hulking daddy bear by at least two or three inches, but now he barely reached the top of his chest. He’d shrunk close to a foot and a half…and all of his muscles had disappeared along with it, like he’d simply deflated. No wonder he hadn’t been able to fight him off–why had he even tried? He…he knew better, a weakling like him. Men…men like this man, like his…Master. He couldn’t fight them, there was no way he could possibly win, not against a man like that. Not against any man…because…because he wasn’t a man, not…not anymore.

He could see his crotch, and it was…it was bare. He’d always had a small cock, but now he had literally nothing. Not even a nub, and his balls, too, had shrunken away and disappeared entirely. Seeing where the bitch was looking, George crouched down, and with one hand rubbed the smooth patch of skin. “Tell me bitch. What do you feel? Feel anything down there anymore?”

“N-No…No, what…what did you do to me? Where’s my cock?”

“You don’t deserve a cock, bitch. What would a pathetic piece of trash like you even use a cock for anyway? Or balls? No…no, you know what you’re good for–the only thing you’re good for, slave. Tell me…tell me what a worthless bitch like you might be good for.”

He didn’t…want to say it. He couldn’t say it, but his lips were moving, words were slipping out against him, “Serving…sir. Serving men. Men like you.”

George turned him towards him and slapped him across the face, “No, fucker–you don’t serve men like me. You serve any man–all men are better than you and deserve your service, right bitch?”


“Good,” George said, and pulled out a collar attached to a leash he’d kept attached to his belt. Trey meekly allowed him to place it around his neck, and then George tugged him out of the room, naked, “Let’s see if we can help you learn that lesson, bitch. Come on.”

They stayed at the bath house until the early morning, George leading Trey around by the leash, forcing him to serve every single man they came across, no matter how old and fat, or young and thin. The whole time, he forced Trey to show off his empty crotch, forced him to tell men what he was, and what he was good for. He even gave him a new name, since he didn’t deserve a man’s name. His name was Trash now–and by the time George led him stumbling out into the cold dark outside, still naked, it was the only name he could remember having.

Down the street, still parked, was a motorcycle. Some…dim memory tried to tell him that it was his, but what could a little bitch like him ever do with a motorcycle? Hell, he wouldn’t even be able to drive it…at his new height. He’d continued shrinking, all night long, the more George had abused and humiliated him. Now, he was even weaker, and only about four feet tall. George stopped outside, and looked down at him, wondering what to do next. He wouldn’t be hurting anyone now, not anymore–but was that enough? Did such a cruel thing deserve even this much of a life, as a worthless, tiny bitch? He didn’t. Not in George’s opinion. “Come on slave, you’re coming home with me. I’ll deal with the rest of you then.”