Arctos: Briar (Part 3)

He couldn’t see very well through the smoke, but the TV was still playing one of his favorite pornos. He waved a bit of it away, watching that thick, massively hung daddy line that cock up with that cub’s hole, hearing him whimpering with need, and start slipping it inside, bit by bit, the moaning now pained, but still so eager, and Miles bounced on the dildo in his hole a bit faster. That’s what he fucking needed, some god damn daddy dick in his hole! That thought set off some doubts, some worries–he wasn’t gay, was he? Then again, he’d thought he wouldn’t like pipes, and look at him now? Still, he was old enough to be a daddy himself, after all, Jase was right upstairs. Hopefully his son couldn’t hear him moaning…then again, Jase was sexy. Not quite daddy material, but Miles wasn’t feeling too picky. Any cock in a storm, right?

His full beard had pulled back in a bit, shortening as the grey disappeared, turning a vibrant red he hadn’t seen on himself in decades. His body hair thickened in, spreading across his chest and especially in his pits and crack, and his nose caught a smell he loved–he lifted his arm and took a deep breath of his musky stench, and shuddered, leaning his face in and licking at the sweat there. Hopefully jase hadn’t taken a shower yet; it would be so much better if he still stank from work, tasted like dirt and dust and sweat, letting his cub lick him from pit to toe, fuck! He could suck on those damn feet of his all night, if he let him. The room around him was a bit messy, and he got up for a moment, finding a pair of Jase’s work socks and taking them with him back to the couch, sniffing at first, in between puffs on his pipe, and then started sucking the sweat out of them, wiping up his own cum and sweat with them and sucking that out too. Getting close, but better to edge for a bit longer. Maybe Jase will come down, and catch him. Fuck, embarrassing, sure, but at least it would be out there. That fucker can’t know what he’s missing, plowing Mile’s tight cub hole, if he hasn’t seen it, right? That didn’t happen, but a few minutes later, there was a knock at the front door.

Someone killing his damn vibe. He ignored the door, and just kept stroking, moaning a bit louder, hoping to summon Jase down by curiosity, and there was another pounding at the door, louder, and a deep voice yelled through it, “Goddamn it cub, I can fucking smell you in there! Open the damn door and take care of this fucking daddy cock.”

Now that caught his attention. He got up from the couch, wondering who in the hell it might be, nervous and anxious, but whoever it was, daddy was hot. Now that he was closer to the door, he could smell him too–the scent was new and yet so…damn familiar. Surely he must have smelt him somewhere before. He unlocked the door and pulled it open, and Cole was standing them, sneering around his own pipe, rubbing his cock through his sweat soaked cutoffs. Daddy. Seeing him…it clicked into place. His daddy. He had a daddy, thank fucking god, a daddy to save him from himself.

Cole pushed into the house, shutting the door behind them with a slam and pressed their bodies together, slick with sweat, smelling his new boy, and moaning. “Fuck, I can’t fucking believe how hot you look, better than I fucking imagined!” Cole said, and shoved his face into Miles’ pit, snorting and licking, “Yeah, fucking reek! Just like they fucking advertised…Come on cub, give daddy one of those sloppy kisses of yours, suck my tongue like you’re gonna be suckin’ my cock from now on.”

They forgot to take their pipes out, but caught them, and kissed, Cole spinning them around and shoving his cub up against the door, hard, the wall shaking a bit, licking his boy’s bearded face, Miles sucking his tongue into his mouth, nibbling at it, both hands working his daddy’s cutoffs, hauling out his huge daddy cock and stroking it, his ass aching for it, even though it was still stuffed full with his favorite dildo. “God daddy, fuck me, my fuckin’ hole sir…”

Cole growled, bit down on his boy’s neck, hearing him hiss, back arching as he sucked at his wet throat, and let go with a pop. “Fuck, yeah, forget the fucking bj, I want that hole, I can smell it pig, get on the couch.”

Miles bounded over and got on the couch, facing the back on his knees, spread wide, crack ready. Cole shoved the coffee table back and got down on his knees behind him, hauling the big dildo out, tossing it to the side, and shoving his mouth against his cub’s hole, licking and sucking at the pucker, and Mile’s let loose a long fart.

“Oh fuck boy, you know how to turn daddy’s damn cranks…”

“Fuck yeah, I know what daddies want…”

“Wanted you since the first damn day I saw you, you know that?” Cole said, pulling away for a moment, “Now you’re mine now, ain’t that right?”

“Fuck yeah, Daddy, I’m fucking yours!”

“That’s what I wanna hear,” Cole said, and dug back into Miles’ crack, wrapping one hand around his massive sack and tugging it away from his body, listening to him moan loudly, loud enough that Cole didn’t hear the sound of Jase coming down the stairs. The sounds coming from the lower level had grown too loud for him to ignore, but he couldn’t imagine what his father might be watching, or doing, downstairs. He came down and around the corner, facing the back of the couch, and he saw a strange young man, thick red beard and short hair, puffing on a pipe and groaning in some strange rubber get up, and he froze, before saying, “What the fuck? Who the fuck are you?”

Sketch – Mutual Friends (Part 2)

Warning: Gets a bit scummy–felching, slob, light scat.

Fuck, I don’t know where to begin. I don’t…is this even me? Am I even me anymore? I mean, sure, I enjoyed it, I…I wanted all of it, but maybe, maybe the best thing I can do is get it down, get it out of my head.

Gus wanted me to come over for a long weekend, with Sam. He said that Sam needed some special sessions, and that he’d have more fun if I was there too, along with him, helping Gus out with some things. I tried to say no, when he offered, but fuck, he wore me down quick. It was…he has more power over me, I don’t know how else to say it. At first, I mean, that stink, sure, when I was near it, there was nothing I could do, but away from him I felt like I had more autonomy, but the longer I’m with him, the more often we’re together, it’s harder and harder for me to think, harder for me to not do what Gus suggests. Fuck, even taking showers is getting hard, I don’t like them like I used to, I always feel…violated by how clean I feel when I get out, There’s just nothing quite like how sweaty and dirty and musky you are after a good long day at work, you know? When all you want to do is lounge around, lick out your own nasty pits, suck on your socks, and jack off six, seven times in a row. That’s what I do now. That’s what I want to do now, I can’t deny it, but it was Gus–I know he’s making me do this, making me think these things, making me into…into someone else.

This weekend, I was scared, sure. I was nervous. I was on guard as best I could be, for what Gus might try to get me to do. Sam and I finished work and I drove him over, Sam’s face buried in my armpit as I drove, like usual for us now. We got to the apartment, and for the first time ever, Gus’ musk and stench wasn’t the most powerful aroma in the room. Gus, apparently, had been cooking, and cooking a lot. Every piece of real estate in the already filthy kitchen was covered with food, and Gus told me to sit Sam down in the chair at the table and then had me bind him to the frame using the rope he’d left out, and I did as was told. Sam was excited–drooling from his mouth and his cock at the same time, begging for food…and I didn’t know what to make of it. I’d noticed Sam gaining weight lately, but I hadn’t thought much of it, really–because I didn’t want to think about it. My job, I thought, was to keep Sam in check at work–nothing less or more, but I could already tell that this weekend was going to result in a promotion of sorts.

I got him all bound up–including Sam’s hands to the arms of the chair–and Gus told me I could go ahead and get started. I didn’t know what he meant. So Gus, like talking to a child, told me to start feeding the pig. That was…when I tried to object. It didn’t work, of course–Gus came over, and got me all…horny, and soon I was shoving food in Sam’s face, and I was…it was hot, actually. Seeing him scarfing food down, unable to stop, even as his gut started bulging, and I…well, Gus kept encouraging me too. I fed the pig for hours, and eventually Gus stopped me. Sam was so full all he could do was moan. He’d shot his load a couple of times, and I hadn’t even touched his cock once. I was covered with food, and Gus got me out of my clothes, and told me we needed to go out and get dessert.

I thought we were going to the store. No–Gus forced me into some leather gear of his that kind of fit me, and we drove downtown to a sleazy leather bar and…

I don’t know how many it was.

My ass was free for any man who wanted it, and Gus…well, Gus made sure a lot of men wanted it. It hurt–I’d never been fucked before, and after each guy came inside of me, if there was no one right after them, Gus would plug me up with a small, wide dildo, keeping their seed inside me. I…I think a couple of guys even pissed in me. My gut hurt so much–I nearly cried on the ride home, but Gus just told me to be strong, that it was important I not lose Sam’s dessert. We got back, and tipped Sam back, I straddled him so he could lock lips with my hole, and I kept feeding him, and I was so disgusted with myself, but Sam ate all of it, and Gus…fuck, Gus made me like it, I shouldn’t be hard, thinking about that again, but here I am, sniffing my pits and stroking off thinking about that nasty pig sucking all that filth from my hole…

I did it again, the next night. And I was excited that time. I…I suggested it. Gus didn’t have to say anything, I did the work–begging men for their loads in my ass, and this time, the fuller my guts got, the…the sexier I felt, the harder my cock got, the more I looked forward to getting home so I could feed this filth to that nasty pig. The next day, it felt…wrong, not having anything in my hole. Gus fucked me over and over. I…I told him I’d just get started on dessert myself, and left Gus to feed Sam so I could find even more men to fill me up good, yeah, fuck, I…I thought this would help, it’s not helping. I…I miss it. I’ve tried to resist, I didn’t want to go out, but I gotta. I gotta feel it again, and I can’t feed the pig, but maybe…I mean, Gus was telling me how good it tastes, made me…made me clean the pig’s nasty face yesterday while he fucked me good…I shouldn’t. I know I shouldn’t but I want to. I need to. Fuck. Fuck it, fuck, I gotta get fucked, I don’t–forget it. At least he let me keep the leather gear, right? Just once, just to get it out of my system, and I’ll be good. I can control myself, right?

Sketch – Mutual Friends (Part 1)

He hadn’t been on the crew for very long at that point–to be honest, most of the other guys kind of hated him. Not because of anything he’d done, really–it’s just that the job was on a tight schedule and Sam had no fucking idea how to do anything, which meant that when he wasn’t slowing us down, we were stopping work just to teach him how to lay fucking asphalt. After a few days, he ended up flagging, which was better to be honest all around. Still, I could remember what it was like to be that green, and holding up projects. Some of the guys were outright cold, refused to even talk to him; the least I could do was a hello and some small talk, right?

Then the guy goes and thinks we’re fucking friends. I should have seen it coming. Out of the damn blue he invites me over to his place to watch the game with his roommate, and I didn’t have a damn interest in going, so I declined. Me and some of the other guys had planned on going to a strip joint, not that I told him, because heaven forbid he decided to tag along, right? Still, the invitations just wouldn’t fucking stop, after that, and a guy can only keep up with the damn excuses for so long. Still, he didn’t seem like a bad guy. I hadn’t exactly learned much about him, not that I cared, but he seemed…not just green, but…well, this work just didn’t seem like something he was used to. Sure, he was greasy and dirty like the rest of us, but he had no callouses on his hands, no tan, no work muscle–guy was kind of a ball of chub, if you know what I mean. Maybe he’d been laid off or something, I didn’t know, I didn’t want to listen to a sob story for sure. But on a night when I was feeling a bit down myself and thought the company couldn’t hurt, I finally took him up on his offer. He was bussing to work, but I had my truck, so I offered to drive him home and hang out for a bit with him and his “roommate.”

He lived in a shitty apartment in a shittier complex. He shoved open the door, and the whole place was a fucking sty–don’t get me wrong, I wasn’t exactly neat and tidy, but that place made me cringe. And fuck, it stank! Not just musky, not just stale–it stank. Still, I couldn’t really beg off now–I took a beer from him, he cleared off the couch and we sat down and started watching the game that was on, chatting a bit. His roommate was out–”probably buying beer or something,” Sam told me–but he seemed…anxious. Kept looking his phone and checking the time. I’d probably been there half an hour, and was trying to figure out a way to ditch somewhat gracefully, when the door swung open, and Sam’s roommate came in, with a twenty-four pack of beer under his arm. The guy was as messy as the apartment. The thing I remember most–his white t-shirt, those fucking pits of his were stained brown–I could see it across the room. The guy said hi, dropped the beer on the table in front of us, and immediately shoved himself in between us on the couch, throwing his arms around us both, and fuck! The stench rolling off those fuckin’ pits!

My eyes were watering, I started gagging, but I was paralyzed. My body…it wouldn’t move, even as it tried to keep the odor out of my lungs. On the other side of him, all I could hear was this strange slurping and groaning–I managed to roll my head far enough to see what was going on, and Sam had his face shoved in his roommate’s armpit, and was licking and sucking at it, hungry as could be, and the guy was…was encouraging him. Then he turned to me.

“So, you must be that buddy of Sam’s from work–he’s been trying to coax you over for weeks now! Good to meet you. Dale, right? My name’s Gus. Gotta say Sam, ya picked a good one.”

“Thanks Gus, I…I thought he’d be perfect.”

“Fuck yeah, he’s a beauty. Good muscles–I love the tattoos,” Gus ran his hand up under my shirt, where I was spasming on the couch, trying to understand what was happening to me. “Nice fuckin’ bulge too. Sam, get over here and show our guest some manners, get that cock out and start suckin’ on him like a good pig.”

“Fuck yeah, sure thing Gus! I’ve wanted his cock since the first day I saw him,” Sam said, got off the couch and in between my legs, hauled out my cock and started licking at my cock and balls, still sweaty from a day in the summer heat.

I tried to pull away, but Gus grabbed my head and pulled it back, right into the crook of his pit, pushing his face close, his breath as foul as his pits. “Now, now, don’t fight it, that’ll only make it hurt, or I’ll have to go to some extreme measures. Just inhale, Dale, and everything will be fine. You’ll get used to it, I promise. Fuck, look at Sam down there–just two months ago he came here looking for a room to rest, some fancy fucker in a suit with a job at a tech company but and now look at him. Still, I need someone to keep an eye on him during the day, and that somebody’s gonna be you. Help me out and do as I say, and everything will be just fine–you’ll get to use this pig’s holes as much as you want. Now take a deep breath, and relax…”

I…I don’t really remember what happened after that big breath I took. Gus…said a lot of things. A lot of things that made…a lot of sense, even though I can’t recall them right now. I ended up staying that first night, and by morning…it just made sense to help Gus out with his pig, you know? Keep him in line at work, help him out, make sure his holes are well worked and loose throughout the day. And everyday, I give Sam a ride home from the worksite…and Gus is there…and I get to smell him. I get to smell Gus while I fuck that pig’s brains out, and…and I know I shouldn’t, but I can’t stop myself, and it’s only getting worse. That, and Gus…Gus has been giving me these weird looks, these hungry looks. Talking about…about me the way he talks about Sam, sometimes, when he talks about…about what’s gonna happen to the pig. I’m staying with them both for a long weekend, and I wish I could say no…but I have a sinking, stinking feeling there’s not much I’d say no to, if Gus’ filthy body is involved.

Male Bonding (Part 4)

The game continued. Under the table, Jared had finished with Jared cock, and at his son’s orders had begun sucking off the remaining four men, while Maurice crawled around with him, draining bladders as the men needed–and they needed to often, as Trevor kept forcing drinks down their throats, and kept lighting more and more cigars for each of them. Kirk went down next–he’d never had that good of a poker face. Trevor had him eating out his armpits within moments, and then made the middle aged man get on his knees, and beg him to allow him the honor of licking his feet clean. Trevor was all too happy, but forced him to untie his shoes and pull off his socks with his teeth–and then made him promise that he wouldn’t shower more than once a week from that day on, and never with soap or deodorant–all the better to enjoy his own stink, right? Kirk was more than happy to agree, as he shoved his nose between Trevor’s toes and took it great heaving, piggish snorts, running his entire tongue from heel to toe, moaning and stroking his own cock like mad. He shoot on the floor, and Trevor made him lick it clean, before ordering him under the table as well to give the remaining three players foot massages and to lick them clean.

Carter, Dustin, and Ryan were the only remaining players. A strong rivalry had developed between Carter and Dustin, between ruler and usurper. It didn’t help that, with the fewest clothes, they each were the most vulnerable at being removed next. Ryan, on the other hand, still had the most clothes, and he was more than happy to keep it that way. He lost a few more, but it was Carter who fell next, pulling off his underwear as Trevor strode over, laughing. “Oh, and the boss falls! Still, we’ll have to find you something to sit on, don’t you think? Kirk! Get out here, and help me out with your boss here. Get on your hands and knees, Carter.”

Kirk was only too happy to clean out his boss’ hole. Well, at first he was disgusted, but the more he licked it, the more he…couldn’t stop. The more he enjoyed it. The more he loved the sensation of burrowing his tongue in there, getting it slick and wet. Trevor had to haul him away by the hair so he could line up his cock with Carter’s hole and slide it into the well opened hole, Carter immediately fighting the pleasure of it, of being penetrated, of being filled. His resistance didn’t last long, however, and he was shoving his whole body back, desperate to get more of Trevor’s cock inside him. Trevor told the two men at the table to get back to the game, that he had more to do with this pig here. A few rounds later, Carter was howling in some mixture of pain and pleasure as Trevor slipped his fist into his hole, the boss’ cock exploding across the carpet, Kirk diving for it and eating it up from the carpet. Trevor kept an eye on the heated battle going on between Dustin and Ryan. Neither had much left to lose in the game, and Dustin had come back from losing to being neck and neck. Ryan was terrified–but he hated Dustin, and he refused to lose to him. In the end, he counted the deck better, and beat him. Dustin was furious and went to jump across the table and throttle that “fat bitch,” but Trevor stopped him, and then told his father to take over loosening up his bosses’ asspussy for him. Jared dutifully got down and pushed his own fist in Carter’s hole in his son’s stead.

“Dustin, sit back down. Aren’t you hungry?”

“No I’m not fucking hungry, I’m–” he started to say, but Trevor shoved a slice of pizza in his mouth as he spoke.

“No fucker–you’re hungry. You’re fucking famished. You’re going to eat. You’re going to eat, and you’re not going to stop until I tell you to, got it?”

Dustin tried to fight the command, but he couldn’t. He went over to the mostly untouched snack table, and started stuffing his face with everything Laura, Maurice’s wife, had prepared earlier, shoving food in his mouth with his hands, terrified not only at the ferocity of his hunger, but also how horny he was at his sudden lack of control, at the sensation of his full gut.

Trevor ignored Dustin, however, and sat down next to Ryan. “Well done Ryan, looks like you win! Congrats–I kind of hope you’d be the one left standing.”

“Does…does that mean I can go? That…that you won’t do anything to me?”

Trevor laughed. “Let you go? Of course now, Ryan! No, you get the very best prize of all, in fact. No, forget…this. No, you’re a piece of shit, Ryan. Not because you’re fat–I love your size. No, because you’re the smartest fucker in this room, but you don’t believe it. You fucking hate yourself. No, Ryan. I’m not going to let you go–I’m going to kill everything in you that makes you weak, and then you’re going to help me break in these nasty sluts–how does that sound?”

Ryan tried to object, but Trevor just leaned in and started whispering in his ear. Slowly, Ryan stopped trying to fight back, and his face went…blank. Almost featureless, at the debauchery going on around them. Then, his mouth curled up into a smirk–a cruel smirk which was utterly alien to his face. His eyes took on new life, looking around him, at this nasty fucks around him, thinking about…about how much he was going to enjoy this. How much he’d always craved this, this ability to become a brutalizer, and he’d never even known it was inside him all along. Trevor released him, and he immediately got up from his chair, went over to Dustin, and started feeding him, faster than he could hope to keep up with, mocking him as he gagged and choked, trying to swallow everything Ryan shoved into him, and he smiled at Trevor. Trevor–he’d enslaved all of these men, sure, but not him. No, he’d simply told Ryan how to be free.

Breakdown (Sketch)

“Great, just great,” Paul thought, hearing his car’s engine start grinding as he drove down the highway. He made it another half mile before smoke started pouring out, and he was forced to pull off to the side of the road…somewhere. He was on the way to a convention being held in Houston, and had decided to just drive rather than book a flight, but here he was–stranded in the middle of “Some Desert, Texas” in the middle of the night. He was already cutting it close, since the convention started the next morning, but this didn’t bode well at all. He got out and tried to pop the hood, but the metal was too hot too touch–instead he got his cell phone, but naturally he had no reception–that’s what he got for going with that stupid bargain network bullshit. He kicked the tire, cursing, and then leaned against the car door, wondering what in the hell he was going to do. He had zero mechanical know-how–if desperate, he could probably figure out how to change a tire, but this was obviously beyond that. It would seem, then, that the only option he had was to try and catch a ride to somewhere he might get some help.

That late at night, vehicles were few and far between. He kept the lights of the car on so people could at least see, but the first several trucks and semis he waved at didn’t even slow down for him. Finally, after a few hours–putting it well past midnight at this point–a pickup truck rolled down the highway, saw him, slowed down and pulled off the side of the road a some yards ahead of him.

Both door popped open. From the passenger side came a younger man, probably not quite old enough to be drinking yet. He was in better shape but still with a sizable paunch, balanced with a bit of muscle, wearing a sleeveless tee in the hot night, grimy looking jeans and cowboy boots. From the driver’s side, out climbed a…rather obese redneck, a full bushy beard, and long hair, wearing a pair of coveralls and boots which looked to be coated in grease. That was a good sign at least–if the guy was actually a mechanic–maybe his luck was turning around.

“Hey! Thanks for stopping–I was starting to think no one was even seeing me over here,” he said, extending a hand for the older guy, “The name’s Paul.”

“Bill,” he said with a grin, and spit something black onto the ground, “Ah don’ mind givin’ ya a hand, but it ain’t gonna be free, ya hear? Still, don’ look like ya got much choice, right?”

“I mean, of course. How much will it cost?”

“We’ll figure that out once Ah see what’s wrong. Might need tah go back to the show fer the tow truck, we’ll see. Let me poke ‘round a bit, see what’s wrong.” The young man came up, and Bill slapped him on the back, “Mah boy ‘ere can keep ya company fer a bit–say hi, Tim.”

“Hello sir,” the younger man said, his voice much less accented then his father’s, “I just hope we can help you out. I got some coffee in our cab, you fancy a drink?”

“That…that would be nice,” Paul said, and followed Tim over to the truck, while Bill popped the hood, cusing at the heat, and started looking around. It was lifted well off the ground, and Tim had to climb up into the cab–as he did, he let out a long, slightly wet fart inches from Paul’s face, behind him. The smell was gastly, burning his nose and bringing tears to his eyes, as he tried to cough it back.

“Aw shit, sorry about that. I can let real stinker’s go sometimes.”

Paul was still coughing and sneezing, but it felt like…like the smell was forcing it’s way through his nose and eyes, right into his skull. he could almost feel it in there, wrapping….wrapping itself around his brain, choking it…cutting…cutting off…

Paul didn’t bother bringing down the thermos of coffee–he just flipped over, legs hanging off the seat, watching the businessman’s eyes glaze over as he stopped coughing. He was a handsome one–looked like he worked out, probably in mid thirties or so. Dressed in a suit, hair styled nice, looking like a good cityfolk ought to look. He unbuckled his belt and dropped his jeans and jock down around his boots, rolled over and dropped to the step up into the truck, bare ass towards Paul’s face, and let loose another fart towards him, Paul sniffing the air and stumbling forward, pushing his face between the young man’s cheeks and sorting in as much of the funk as he could, his tongue licking out the filthy crack, burrowing into Tim’s hole. It was…sweaty, or greasy–something was getting on his face in any case, but for some reason he couldn’t bring himself to care. Deep inside, some part of him was screaming, the the stench in his mind had cut it off, rendered it quiet and powerless.

He had no clear idea of how long he stood there, eating out Tim’s ripe hole, as the young man pumped fart after fart in his face, forcing him to inhale all of it, but eventually Bill came around the side of the truck, apparently unsurprised by what he was seeing.

“What’s the damage, daddy?” Tim asked.

“Engine’s shredded tha bits. We’re gonna have tah tow it outta ‘ere at some point. Looks like he’s enjoyin’ himself. Fuck, still remember the first time Ah caught a whiff a yer farts son, fuckin’ changed mah life.”

“Can I bring him home, Daddy? This one’s…hungry. I think we can have some fun.”

“Oh alright. Ain’t like he’s got anywhere else tah go, right? He can stay wit us ‘till Ah git his car fixed up.”

“Ya hear that Paul? You get to stay with me for a few days! isn’t that exciting?”

Paul wasn’t listening–Bill finally grabbed the man by the hair and pulled him free from his boy’s crack. His eyes were empty and unblinking, and his previously smooth face was coated with a half inch long beard all over, which he’d sprouted over the course of his ass eating. Together they got Paul into the cab with them, squished between them on the cab’s hump, and got back on the highway, heading home, Tim giddy with excitement that his new friend would be staying with him for a good long while.

Christmas III: A Brand New Stanta Claus (Part 10)

The rest of the night went smoothly, though Stan may have strayed from his explicit list of naughty men on occasion, to punish a few people who may have not deserved it, but it didn’t really matter–the pigs and bears and cubs all thanked him for it afterwards, licking his boots, his holes, or the cum dribbling from his cage. He felt so…happy now, so free. How had he managed to exist with all of this bottled up inside of him for so long? Now that it was out, he could barely remember what he’d been like before all of this, before he’d been given this great gift. The list whittled down, and dawn approached on all of the horizons he visited around the world, and as much as he was enjoying the night, he was happy when he finally came to the last name on the list–what he hadn’t been expecting, however, was to recognize it.

It was his name–his old name, maybe, he might say. He checked the notes, and found a personal note from Timmy the elf, addressed to him, Stan:

“By now, I’m sure you have discovered that I misled you during our initial meeting, but I hope that you can forgive me. I’m also sure that you have discovered our true intent as well, but I have a feeling you have probably enjoyed yourself more than you might have ever believed. Regardless, our deal stands. Your one year of service is up. If you wish to go back to your old life, simply leave your clothes in the sleigh–all of them–send the reindeer off, and everything will go back to normal–no one will have even noticed that you were gone. However, if you wish to continue your service, you are welcome to return to the North Pole for as many years as you are able and willing. I hope to see you soon, but if I do not, I understand.”

Go back? No–no, he could never go back. Not after this, not after what he’d experienced, not after what he’d become. But he also knew he couldn’t simply leave, either. This was his family, he had created them. He could at the very least say goodbye, and leave them some gifts. He slipped down the chimney and began poking around the house, eventually finding his way to the master bedroom, where he had spent so many years, but where his widow, Emily, was now sleeping alone.

From various bits of evidence around the house–some photos of them only Emily had liked that he’d hated were hanging were up, an ornate urn on the fireplace–it looked like his alter ego had simply died in the last year. Good riddance. But there she was, just as she’d always been, and he hated her so, so, much. He hated her for all the years he’d toiled away with her, both of them desperately unhappy, neither able to satisfy the other. Emily had always dreamed that all men adored her–she would, in an effort to garner his interest, attempt to inflame his jealousy, but she had never actually slept with anyone else that he’d known of. The room still reeked of the perfumes she insisted on wearing, along with all her makeup on the vanity–he had never once seen her face bare, in all their years together, like he’d married a mask. He focused, and all that reeking perfume turned into sweet, manly musk on the air, as he slipped into the room. Fussing with his cage until it came free, his massive cock unfurling. He’d never really given her a proper fuck, in all these years, so he might as well give it to her now.

He climbed on her, and rolled her onto her stomach. She didn’t fight him, the welling of lust in her at his hands was enough, but she tried to scream when his massive cock worked its way into her ass, but the scream faded into a moan, her physique expanding, filling out, hair growing across her body, until after a few minutes, Emily was now a fat old man, bucking back to meet Stanta’s thrusts, his vagina closing up, but leaving a miniscule, clit like cock and two tiny balls barely hanging at all below it. With a final thrust, he pumped his ass full of cum, and gave him the rest of his gift–from now on, his musk would be so powerful, that no man would be able to resist fucking him, but only so long as he remained as filthy and unwashed as possible. He would need to, however–his musk is the only way an old, disgusting, small cocked geezer like this was ever going to get someone to fill this hole. That desire would drive him more than any else, the need to be fucked at all times–if he needed men to adore him, then they’d have no choice. He pulled out, and Emil groaned, reaching around with a hand and shoving several fingers in all at once, pumping them in as he twiddled his tiny cock and shot a load all over the disgusting bedspread, before collapsing and falling asleep immediately, hand still firmly planted in his own hungry ass.

Still, Emil was only one of the people currently in the house; after their father’s sudden death, it would seem that all three of his son’s had come home for Christmas to soothe their former mother’s angst. Such good boys–now their father could deal with them all at once, instead of having to cross the country to find them. Still, Stanta was struck by how little he really knew of his son’s, even after all these years. he’d spent so much time pushing his own desires onto them, that he’d never really let them express themselves. Well, Stanta would fix that. These boys were going to get everything they’d ever wanted for Christmas this year, whether they liked it or not.

Magic Show (Part 2)

The magic show lasted about thirty more minutes. Max called up several more men to the center of the dance floor, taunting each of them with the dumbbell, all of them unable to lift it, and all of them suffering some slightly humiliating change as a result, though in Ethan’s opinion, none of the men suffered as much indignity as he had. The last volunteer came up–an older, pudgy bear–Max encouraged him to lift with all his might, and sure enough, he was able to lift it–and packed on quite a bit of muscle in the process. Everyone laughed and cheered, the final volunteers eyes bright, and the Max called the show to an end, the music returned, and everyone went back to dancing.

Ethan tried to keep an eye on Max as he left, but as short as he was, it was nearly impossible to spot the magician in the crowd–so he spent the next hour scouring the entire bar looking for him, shoving his way past people with his big round gut, becoming a bit panicked. What if he didn’t find him? What if he was stuck like this? He couldn’t go back to his life looking like this–no one would even recognize him! Finally, he spotted Max chatting up some bear at the bar, and Ethan pushed his way over, accidentally jostling the man Max was talking to. The bear shook his head quickly, like he was coming out of some daydream, gave the magician a strange look, and then left without another word. Max scowled down at Ethan, “What the hell man? I was working on him. He was gonna be my bear slave for the night.”

Ethan just stared at him, and then shook his head, not even wanting to know. “No, look, I just want you to change me back, alright? I mean, this isn’t permanent, right? It can’t be.”

Max heaved a sigh, “It’s such a pain in the ass when they remember.”

“What?”

Max rolled his eyes and turned to walk off, but Ethan grabbed one of his hands and pulled him back, “I’m not done with you! Fucking change me back!”

The magician didn’t say anything, he just glowered at him, Ethan met his stare…and immediately realized he shouldn’t have, because he couldn’t look away. “Someone should learn to be less pigheaded–still, I think that’s going to be hard for you from now on, eh?”

His anger turned to fear, as he struggled to break the gaze. It felt like an eternity before Max finally blinked, and walked off, leaving him standing there, shaking. What in the hell had just happened to him? He thought about trying to catch up, but he’d already lost sight of the magician again in the crowd. He needed to get away from all these people for a second, he needed to figure out what had just happened to him.

Even before he reached the bathroom door, he could tell something was wrong. His face hurt, for some reason–almost like someone had punched him in the nose, and it was swelling. At first he thought it must just be his imagination, but even in the dim light of the bar, he could see something pushing out into his field of vision. He pushed his way into the bathroom, which was empty, as far as he could tell, but he was too short to be able to see himself in the mirror. There was a bucket of cleaning supplies behind the door–he emptied it out, overturned the bucket in front of the sink and climbed up on it. It wasn’t very steady, and he was a bit worried that he’d crush it with his new weight, but he managed to get a better view of himself–and toppled back off the bucket with a surprised squeal.

Pigheaded was right. What in the hell was wrong with his face? He got the bucket back in position and climbed back on it, using the counter as support, and saw that, indeed, his face wasn’t looking quite human at the moment–his nose was indeed swelling, almost right before his eyes. His upper lip had pushed out, his nose becoming flat and wide and pushed out further along with his mouth, giving him a very obvious pig snout–though he still managed to keep the handlebar mustache he’d grown, making the whole effect look rather comical, even though he was terrified. His ears looked different too–they were larger, thinner, and pointed. As he watched, the left one grew too tall for it’s weight and flopped over in half, his right side following suit after a second more.

This was a nightmare–but then two things happened so fast that he couldn’t be sure which one happened first. He heard, behind him in one of the stalls, a very loud groan. Apparently, he discovered, he wasn’t nearly as alone as he’d thought he was. Secondly, he became aware of the most amazing, delicious smell that he’d ever caught wind of before. It wasn’t particularly clean–if he had been forced to describe it, he would have said it was something between a stale locker room and a slightly rotten egg, but he wanted it. Drool welled up in his mouth, and he swung his nose around, and decided that the groan and the smell must be related, and he had to know what it was that had him so…hungry.

He crept around the corner so he could see into the stalls–the doors were both open, but it was in the handicap stall that he found them. Two bears, both of them in leather, were poised over the toilet. One had his cock buried in the other’s ass, but the delicious smell wasn’t coming from there. Now, it was coming from the other guy, who was leaking cum onto the toilet seat below him, and the sight of it–all Ethan could do was resist with all his might, and keep himself stationary, transfixed on the man’s precum.

No–No, what the fuck was wrong with him? He backed away, hurrying to the bathroom door, but as he did, the craving became even stronger, and new pains started ripping their way through him, his snout pushing out further, his teeth shifting and rearranging, short tusks pushing out from his bottom jaw. He reached up with his hands to feel what was happening–but they weren’t hands–not anymore. His fingers hand begun to fuse and turn black, quickly becoming trotters, his legs growing shorter, his boots no longer fitting his feet. He grabbed for the bathroom door, but ended up tripping. His legs and arms were now the same length, and he landed on all fours, staring up at the door handle so far away, his nose still pulling him back around, towards that filthy smell…

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.

Dream Camp (Part 8)

They returned to the rest of the hiking group, pushing through the trees, the scout now sporting a full beard, a small gut, and a longer cock he couldn’t seem to keep his hands away from. Barry watched something pass through all of them, almost like a wave of some strange energy, the scouts all turning more…manly, all of them except Kyle Hoffson, who remained stubbornly unchanged…even when he saw his son Max, come lumbering out of the woods behind them, shorter, no longer wearing a uniform other than his neckerchief, soaked with sweat and cum, his paws glued to his thick, bestial cock.

“M-Max?” he said, mostly to himself, “What…I…”

Kyle couldn’t take his eyes away from the strange, disturbing beast. That…that couldn’t be his son. He would never…never, have a son like…like that, right? Max grinned up at him, baring his strange teeth in that inhuman snout, and then walked over and hefted a heavy pack onto his muscular back, and Kyle…Kyle felt something inside him, something he’d never felt before, grow tighter. It had been getting tighter all weekend, ever since he’d seen that obese monstrosity of a man in the parking lot dropping off his son, this strange sense that his hold on reality, it was becoming strained. He was trying to hold it together, trying to keep in mind what was real and what wasn’t, but increasingly he’d felt like he was living in some twisted, perverse dreamscape. First, Eric and Alex Mendel with their, freakish leaking chests. Then the disgusting perversity of Barry Brooke and his overgrown boy, and now…now his son? His own son? He couldn’t look like that! If…if Max looked like that, and if Max was his son, then…then what would that make him?

It grew tighter, he didn’t feel like he belonged in this place anymore. He looked around at the scouts, his scouts, and realized he barely recognized any of them, anymore. All of them were suddenly hulking, hairy young men, stinking with musk, all of them obviously corrupted by that filth Barry Brooke put out from his disgusting body. The disgusting fucker, he revelled in it, in his…his power and authority. Look at him, his cock hanging out openly, all of the scouts staring at it, smelling it, smelling him and each other. He had to get out of here, he needed to get out of here, and with a sudden terror, he grabbed his pack and started off back on the trail, leaving the rest of them behind. He had to get back to camp, he had to escape, before whatever this insanity was overwhelmed him.

The rest of the scouts watched him leave, and then looked to Barry. He could…sense it now, Kyle’s hold on reality beginning to fray slightly. He wasn’t sure whether it was simply stubbornness or just a lack of imagination that made him so resistant, but now he knew he wouldn’t be able to resist his dream forever. “Well boys? What do you think? Should we get back to camp for the evening?”

His young men all nodded, and Barry led the way, Max behind him, carrying his scoutmaster’s pack along with his own, happy to serve as beast of burden, like always. The boys followed behind, enjoying the musky scent of their ScoutMaster leading the way, their bodies developing as they did, bodies growing hairy, beards filling in and growing long, their own bodies becoming sweatier, their cocks and balls growing, leaking in their uniforms. More than once, on the way back, one of them would begin to have doubts, begin to fear what was happening to them, and they would try to hang back, to get away, but Christian, following up at the end, was waiting for them. They would, spend a bit of quality time together, their faces buried in Christian’s reeking pits, our slurping at his engorged cock, until they no longer questioned what was happening, until the desired it, and then the two of them would double time and catch up to the main group.

Up at the front, Barry kept the pace quick, not necessarily because he wanted to make it back to camp quickly–if anything, he would have preferred a few more breaks, so he could see how his scouts were all developing behind him, wallowing in his cloud of perverse musk, but no–he was keeping his eyes ahead, to where he could see Kyle trudging along as quickly as he could, desperate to put as much space between himself and Barry as he could. Barry could smell him on the wind: his sweat, but also his terror and confusion. He saw him ditch his pack to the side of the trail, look over his shoulder at the band of scouts behind him, led by their massive, obese ScoutMaster, his eyes wide with the terror of prey, and he started running proper, with about two miles left before they reached camp. Barry let him pull away from them, keeping the pace steady. Kyle was strong, but he wasn’t that strong, to keep up a run like that for much longer than a mile. Still, Barry wanted him exhausted. Barry wanted him stinking, and scared, and too weak to fight him. Let him run, he thought, he can’t run from what’s been coming to him for years and years.

Kyle reached camp, and found himself staring at something just as disturbing, his fellow leader latched to Alex Mendel’s tit, now the fattest man he’d ever seen, his arms and legs beginning to wither and atrophy, all of their muscle now concentrating themselves in his neck and chest, his eyes becoming swallowed in fat, his ears growing smaller as he became more and more cut off from the world, now just a body made to suck and swallow. The man, hearing him coming, pulled away from Alex and looked over at him, his mouth toothless, just two swollen lips, a thick, grotesque tongue licking them clean of milk, before Alex guided his face back to sucking, which the man would be doing for the rest of his life. Alex smiled at Kyle, and beckoned him closer, squeezing out of his tits, spurting out a bit of his sweet milk, and Kyle…Kyle felt himself stretch to the brink. With a primal scream, he ran to his SUV and started clawing at the door, needing to get away from this nightmare, when a bod slammed up against him, pinning him to the side, a voice in his ear growling, “No Kyle, I don’t think you get to leave yet–what would the troop do without their favorite pig?”

Dream Camp (Part 7)

Is he dreaming now? The thought occurs to him too late to do him any good. One moment, he was certain he was awake, lounging with his son, the next, he is no longer certain of anything, the sky oversaturated with color, Max crawling towards them both across the ground. He seems scared, but his terror is no longer enough to keep him away from what he wants. He circles around them, keeping his distance, snorting and huffing, but Barry knows that if they just remain still, he’ll approach eventually. Each time Max reappears in his field of vision, something…changes. His nose flattens. His bottom incisors have grown out past his lips. His muscles have bulged out, especially his shoulders, collapsing the length of his neck. His hands aren’t hands, his feet aren’t feet. He’s making this…noise, a desperate whine, snout twitching with need, a dark red, almost purple tongue hanging from his mouth, glistening with spittle in the harsh light. His clothes have disappeared, revealing a body coated with hair including much of his face by a thick, but short, beard.

His circling has become tighter now, and he finally stops at Barry’s side, sniffing him, his cock hardening, nose snuffling at his pit. Barry lifts his arm, and his own musk–it’s so much stronger suddenly, so strong even he can barely contain the lust that pulses through him when he smells himself, Max digging in, licking and slobbering, Christian, in his lap, groaning, rubbing his cock, his dad pulling him closer, into his stench. He can sense it spreading to him, encompassing them both like some strange cloud. Max is now licking his body mindlessly, but Barry and Christian are focused on their combined stench, their unwashed bodies, their greasy hair and tangled beards–

“Ummm…Mr…Mr. Brooke?”

The sun felt so good, so warm.

“Dad? We should get going–we still have five miles.”

Barry stretched on the ground, still against the tree. Max, whatever he was now, something between…well, he didn’t really know, really, but he was happily licking his grungy hiking boot, one strange paw like hand groping at his hard, strange looking, cock. He looked up and saw Christian standing already, pulling on his grimy, sweaty uniform. It was another scout who had come to find them, a guy in another patrol named John, eyes still wide at the scene he’d stumbled upon, but by the time Barry had stood up, everything seemed so…normal, suddenly. Barry pulled up his pants, soaked in his musky sweat, and buttoned them, but left his huge cock flopping out the front where it could air out a bit. “Thanks, must’ve fallen asleep there,” he said, walking past John, placing a hand on his shoulder, his stench making the young man tense up and spasm, as he spontaneously shot his load into his underwear. Barry chuckled. Fuck, he loved his boys. He leaned in and gave him a forceful kiss, one hand shoving its way into the young man’s pants, coating itself in cum before pulling out, feeling John moan into his mouth, hungry for his spit. Barry drew away and licked the cum from his fingers, and the scout leaned in, rubbing his face against his scoutmaster’s hairy chest.

Barry looked over, and saw Max was busy cleaning off his son’s cock, and now he could actually get a better look at what, exactly, he was. He was indeed something between a man, a pig and a dog, if he had to try and pin it down. He had a pig’s snout, definitely, with two short tusks pushing out on either side. His tongue was…very long, he saw, as he watched it lick Christian’s cock–it could stretch from head to root with no trouble at all. The rest of Max’s body, however, was a bit…harder to describe. He was coated with fur–not like a person, more like the pelt of an animal. His hands were closer to paws, but his feet were more like trotters, or hooves, and a short, bushy tail stuck out above his hairy ass. His body was substantially more muscular, but in a rather beastly fashion, and the muscle was covered with a thick layer of fat as well, giving him a firm and brawny physique. As he licked, he was busy rubbing his own cock, which was bright pink and…and definitely not human, with it’s odd slimy texture and narrow, pointed head. It was big, too–at least ten inches, which looked larger on him, because Max had shrunk considerably, down to about five feet tall, though his new posture didn’t help, hunched over like that.

The scout licking and chewing at his chest hair was getting him all riled up again, and he pushed him back gently, knowing that if he got started all over again, none of them would get back to camp before nightfall. But when he saw the young man’s face, he gave a bit of a start–his previously smooth face was now coated with dark stubble. Had he…done that? He couldn’t know for certain, but it looked good on him. Every boy looked better as a man, after all, and if he could, he’d make men out of all of them, he thought with a chuckle.

“Come on, ya’ll, let’s get back and get moving,” Barry said, “We’ve rested long enough, I think.”

Together, the four of them walked back to the troop. Barry led the way with Christian, the scout rubbing his stubbly face and wondering what had just happened to him, and Max following behind them, snorting and grunting happily, still stroking his cock with one paw, licking the palm clean of its slime on occasion, his old life now well and forever behind him.