Tag: musk

Dream Camp (Part 6)

The troop had planned a ten mile hike for that day, around the large lake that the campground was butting up against. The hike was technically optional–Eric and Alex were going to stick around camp and work on some badge requirements with any scouts who didn’t want to go, and several of them stayed–although they were less interested in learning about knots and more desperate to latch onto Alex’s tits and suck the young man dry when they got the chance. The other adult–Saul–stuck around as well. In fact, he’d been with Eric almost all morning, his mouth latched onto his tits, spasming every few minutes as another orgasm ripped through him, his flat stomach already forming a round gut. Poor guy was gonna be stuck in Eric’s harem if he kept that up–just one more obese, empty headed titsucker, like all the others Eric kept at his home. Barry shivered a bit, thinking about how…nice that would be, to just lay around, sucking down Eric’s delicious milk, not having to think about anything else ever again…but he had Christian to think of too. Maybe…maybe when he was older, and out on his own, then maybe Barry would take Eric up on his standing offer he would occasionally try to tempt him with.

That left Barry, Kyle, Christian and most of the older scouts to go on the hike. They all made their lunches, put together their day packs, and got to the trailhead around noon. The weather had turned clear, at least, thought it was still cold and a bit blustery. Barry was thankful for his new body, however–he felt so energetic! Usually he wouldn’t have gone on a hike like this at all, because he would have collapsed before the first mile. Now, however, even though he was still very fat, he also had a much longer stride and the endurance to fuck his cock hungry boy all night long. In fact, by the end of the first mile, he didn’t feel the least bit winded–though he had begun to sweat profusely, soaking his hairy body, the pits of his uniform shirt dark with sweat, and it was hard keeping his head clear when his stinking musk kept distracting him, and making him horny as hell. Christian wasn’t helping much either, walking in front of him, swinging his chubby ass right in his dad’s face. He’d started sweating too–Barry could smell–and see–the sweat collecting in his son’s crack especially, imagining how smelly it might be, thinking about how much he wanted to shove his face in there and eat out his filthy hole.

By the time they reached the five mile marker, where they had planned on eating lunch, both Barry and Christian had their uniforms soaked to the skin, their cocks fully erect and leaking, the scouts around them all trying to keep their own heads clear in the musk of them both. Max, in particular, was in heaven. He’d…always kind of liked how guys smelled, in the locker room after practice. He’d never dared tell his dad something like that–he’d assume his tough boy was some kind of fag–but even Max had never imagined anyone could smell as good as Barry or Christian did. He…he wanted them, there was no use denying it. He wanted their sweat coating his body, he wanted to lick them clean, to bathe in their musk and cum and…and what the hell was he thinking? He wasn’t some fucking fag! Sure, he’d always…kind of wondered, but he couldn’t. His dad would kill him, if he found out Max had even thought of something like that.

Kyle called a long break for lunch, and looked around, but Barry and Christian had already thrown their packs down to the ground and were storming off into the woods, hungry for each other, Barry shoving his son up against a tree, yanking down his pants and burying his bearded face in between Christian’s ass cheeks, tongue probing his loose hole, tasting his loads of cum from earlier still leaking their way free from his ass. Christian bore down and blew a wet fart right in his father’s face, the stench hitting him like a freight train, cock spurting in his uniform pants, driving him into a frenzy of eating and licking as Christian moaned, and farted again. Barry couldn’t wait anymore, he couldn’t resist anymore. He stood up, not even realizing he was growling, shoved down his pants and rammed his cock into Christian in a single thrust. Before, he’d been horny, but still conscious of himself. This fuck however–he felt like an animal. He pulled Christian close to him, raking his nails across his fat gut, slamming his cock in deep, biting down on his shoulder, sucking at the skin, licking at it, marking him. He was his, all his. His forever. He came, a load even more massive than earlier, but kept fucking, feeling it squelch out, dribbling to the forest floor below them, one hand reaching around and milking his boy’s cock until he too shot up and down the trunk of the tree. Only then did his mind return, and he was able to pull away, legs trembling, and they collapsed together–Barry sitting against the tree, Christian in his lap between his legs, his daddy hugging him close against his belly, and they saw Max behind a tree a few yards away, watching them, cock hanging from his pants, drooling.

The amulet was warm against his hair, just like the sun, but he still had enough energy to beckon Max closer. He could see the need on his face, the reluctance, the fear and the desire. He kept stroking, Barry leaned forward and licked the side of his son’s neck, biting at his earlobe gently, never taking his eyes from Max, even as his own eyelids began to droop. He was so tired, all of a sudden, but he was coming closer, coming to them. Yeah, come on boy, come to me, come to us, where you know you belong…

Dream Camp (Part 5)

Barry had to fuck his boy twice–he couldn’t help it, it was like he was on autopilot. As he woke up and realized what must have happened, that the wrong dream had come true, he tried to stop himself, but he simply couldn’t. His boy needed a good, proper loving after all, and Barry was the only one who could give it to him. Even though they had woken up ahead of the rest of the troop, they were some of the last people out of the tent, Barry having to get used to his new size…but he only realized just how large he’d become once he stepped outside, standing to his new height of eight feet for the first time.

Everyone around them treated him like normal, but he felt like a freak, wearing this adult uniform bulging with his fat body, his cock shoved down one leg of his pants…still leaking. Everyone….everyone just seemed so damn small, all of a sudden. Christian followed after him, and his boy was shorter than him as well, but still taller than all of the other scouts–even Max and Mr. Hoffson. “Thanks dad–I’ll see you after breakfast? Before the hike?” Christian asked.

“Huh?” Barry growled, “Oh, of course–you know how I get when I don’t give my boy a good fuck every few hours.” He grinned, but he wanted to scream. The words were falling out so naturally. Christian looked happy as could be, and went off to join the rest of his patrol in cooking breakfast. Barry took a step or two to follow him, but realized that he didn’t belong there, not anymore. No…he was a leader now. In fact, he was the assistant scoutmaster, second to Mr. Hoffson, though he knew all the scouts liked him better.

He looked over and saw the adults had congregated around their own set up–a much nicer one, he’d always noticed, and were busy cooking their own meal, or rather, Eric was cooking–he was the best at it, and enjoyed it the most. Barry lumbered over, poured himself a big mug of coffee, and tried to sit at the picnic bench, but he couldn’t bend his legs under the table. He ended up turning around and sitting backwards on the bench instead, though his knees still came uncomfortably high, the wood groaning loudly under his weight. He had no idea how heavy he might be–even at his new height and build he had a substantial apron of fat hanging off of him. If he had to guess, he was probably somewhere around 600 pounds.

“Need some cream in there?” Eric asked, taking a break from cooking to come around in front of him, his uniform shirt hiked up over his lower set of tits. Barry grunted, but put his cup under a nipple, letting Alex shoot a bit of his milk into his coffee. He swirled it a bit and gave it a sip–immediately his cock was hard, his skin felt flushed. Fuck, if that’s what a real man’s milk could do, no wonder Eric was careful about not letting just anyone drink straight from the tap. He could almost feel Mr. Hoffson’s scowl (or rather Kyle Hoffson–he had always just been Kyle to Barry now) drilling into the back of his neck. It was much, much easier to shrug off the disapproval, now that he knew how much bigger he was than him, and Kyle knew it too. Barry looked over his shoulder and met his now fellow leader’s gaze for a moment, until Kyle looked away, cheeks reddening slightly, and he could…smell something, coming off him. Something else that was making him a bit horny all of a sudden, though not as much as Eric’s cream, of course. He took another sip, enjoying the jolt now that he could anticipate it, and looked over at the patrols getting ready for the rest of the day, the amulet heavy around his neck. Was he…happy about this? What about his own dad and mom? What about his old life? He didn’t know how to be an adult–hell, he barely knew how to be a teenager. It did feel good though, and looking at his boy over there…fuck, he was handsome. Best thing in his whole damn life. He didn’t want to go back–then what would Christian do without him? The amulet seemed to be pretty good at sorting things out, so he’d just have to wait and see.

The patrols finished their breakfast, and while they were cleaning up, Barry felt the need rising up in him again, pulled his boy into their tent and gave him another deep fuck. Everyone knew what they were doing, but for whatever reason it didn’t faze them in the slightest–the only person who seemed to recognize anything strange about the whole thing was Kyle, but even he couldn’t put his finger on what, exactly, was the matter. Barry could sense his resistance, but he wasn’t too concerned about it. Still, something was gonna have to be done about him–just like Barry had always planned, but had a feeling it wouldn’t be as easy as he’d thought. The amulet…it didn’t give him a good feeling–when he was near him, it turned cold. Still, Kyle wouldn’t be a problem for too long, he figured, and Barry unloaded another massive load into his son’s hungry hole with a growl heard throughout the campsite. A growl which made more than a few scouts unexpectedly horny, even though few were willing to admit it to themselves. There was one scout who had remained focused on the tent the entire time, however–Max, Kyle’s buff son, had been staring and licking his lips, trying to understand the raging hardon he had and the…the musky smell in the air. He…he needed something, he needed it bad. He caught his dad staring at him staring at the tent, and he looked away, embarrassed, but he had the strangest feeling in his gut, that something was going to happen. It might be good or bad, but either way, he wanted it, and he wanted it bad–whatever it was.

Dream Camp (Part 2)

After the pack check and more ribbing from some of the older scouts about his size, the troop split themselves up into small groups paired with the adult leaders, so they could all carpool to the campground. The older boys all climbed into Mr. Hoffson’s SUV. Barry ended up in a car with two other scouts–Alex Mendel and Christian Brooke–driven by Alex’s father, Eric Mendel. The three of them were all in the same patrol, but while Barry was good friends with Christian, Alex was rather cool towards him. Then again, Alex and his dad were cool towards everyone. The Mendel’s were one of the wealthier families in the troop–Eric worked at a tech start-up that was raking in capital, but he loved the outdoors as only a tech guy could, always buying the latest and fanciest gear for him and his son, and even financed new equipment for the rest of the troop as well. Alex thought the money made his farts not stink, but at least he wasn’t cruel. Christian was overweight himself, and his parents weren’t very involved in scouts. Well, his parents weren’t involved in much–they spent most of their energy tussling in divorce court. Christian liked camping because it was at least a few days away from his parents without having to stress about money, custody, or anything else a teenager shouldn’t have to deal with.

Alex was in the passenger seat, leaving Christian and Barry in the back. It was clear from the dour look on Christian’s face that it had been a bad week with his mom or dad, and didn’t feel like talking. The Mendels were engaged in their own conversation, and Barry realized he’d left his snacks in his pack, and so he was left to stare out the window at the passing scenery, one hand gripping the amulet around his neck…and he realized it felt…warm. Warmer than it should be, from just being close to him. Even though he knew that should concern him, for some reason it just felt…comforting. The amulet had felt warm like that before, on those nights before he’d had those dreams, but that had been in the evening, but right now it was the middle of the morning. Part of him unburied the worries that he’d been having all week about the necklace–mostly the fact that he really had no idea how the thing worked. He knew that it made his dreams come true…loosely. The dreams had, so far, always involved him and the people around him nearby. He’d been pleased with the results, but it wasn’t like the dreams were things he’d…planned. Like the night before last, when out of nowhere he’d dreamed his mom had a cock and was fucking his dad, and woken up to discover she’d become a…well, a hermaphrodite. Not…Not that there was anything wrong with that, he told himself. Hell, his dad loved it, but…it had been unexpected.

He gripped his necklace tighter in his hand, feeling the warmth permeate his fist and spread into his body, making his eyes droop. Was he still sleepy from the morning, or…was the amulet making him tired? At least he wasn’t thinking as much about how hungry he was. Mid-morning naps had never really been his thing, but he was definitely tired. It was about a two and a half hour drive to the campground, so he had plenty of time for a little rest, right? He should stop worrying so much. Everything…everything was going to be…just fine…

A rumble in his guts. He was…somewhere. Indoors. Featureless, dark walls. Not much light. Doorways, but no doors. No hallways between rooms. He’s looking…looking for food, but he also knows the place is empty. Barren. He sees someone leave a room as he enters it, he chases them. Gets a better glimpse–Alex Mendel, but he’s different. Fatter. A gut, but a huge chest, full moobs jiggling. Naked, naked and running, and he…he has food, somehow Barry knows. Smell, he can smell it. Chasing him, but can’t quite keep up, he won’t slow down. Barry gives up, exhausted, so hungry now, but he can still smell the food. Looks up and there, there is Mr. Mendel. Taller, obese–with tits. Two pairs, hanging down, swollen nipples, something running down…down his fat front, something sweet smelling, he’s gesturing him closer. Barry is salivating, latches onto a nipple and starts sucking, pulling out the sweet delicious milk, something tasting between cream and cum, eyes rolling back in pleasure, Mr. Mendel stroking his head, telling him to drink as much as he’d like. Other’s now, more coming, latching onto the tits, fighting for position, he feels buried, full, eager, hungry–

Barry woke with a start, flailing for space in the car, before realizing where he was, and where he’d fallen asleep, his heart racing. What in the hell was that? These dreams had only been getting stranger, but that one lingered with him, especially that smell. Sickly sweet and yet musky–it had him drooling. He looked up, and saw Alex leaning across the middle of the front seat, his mouth wrapped around one of his father’s nipples, sucking, milk leaking out the corner of his mouth, Barry’s jaw dropped. Ripped from his dream, Eric Mendel was easily five hundred pounds, nearly all of it concentrated in his chest of four, leaking tits. Barry could smell it, and he…he wanted it. Drool leaking out of his mouth, but his throat was too dry to speak. He saw Alex glance back at him, sensing his desire, and he pulled away from his father’s nipple.

“Somebody woke up hungry,” Alex said, and pulled his own shirt off, revealing a fat body. Like his father, Alex saw four nipples, but only two breasts had filled in. Still, Barry unbuckled his seatbelt and lunged forward, wrapping his lips around Alex’s nipple. His milk was sweeter, not nearly as musky as his father’s, but Barry had no interest in objecting, his cock swelling, his hands helplessly reaching into his uniform pants to stroke his big cock off, pleasure overwhelming him, the amulet still hot against his skin.

How about you, Christian?” Alex said, one hand under his other breast, “Want some, big boy?”

Barry glanced to the side as best he could and saw Christian now drooling as well, his eyes filled with confusion but his mouth already pulling him closer, and he took Alex’s other nipple, both of them sucking, Alex groaning and moaning with pleasure, his father egging him on, Christian and Barry helplessly jacking off as they fed. A more interesting camping trip indeed, Barry thought as he spasmed, blowing a massive wad of cum across the center console, and wondering what in the hell he’d gotten himself into.

Mr. Lear’s Buddy (Part 1)

It was homecoming night, the big game against their crosstown rivals, and Buddy knew he couldn’t afford to feel nervous. In fact, nervousness wasn’t something he usually felt–hell, he didn’t usually feel much of anything, in the middle of a game…or really, much at all. As much as Buddy hated to admit it, he simply wasn’t the brightest tool in the shed. Football, now that was something he could do. He could run into guys, he could keep them away from the quarterback, that was simple, that was small and focused enough that his mind could latch onto that. But tonight, about halfway through the first quarter he’d felt something he usually only felt when he was called on unexpectedly in math class–he felt nervous.

A different…kind of nervousness, too. Not a terror nervous, but a sort of happy, giddy nervousness that he’d never felt anything like before. It wasn’t enough to really upset him, or spoil him, but his awareness of the sensation was there all the same, and there was nothing he could do to shake it. Alongside the nervousness, however, he had this other sensation of being watched…studied. Examined from the stands. That was understandable, he was one of the star varsity players, but this felt different than a fan watching him. Still, the nervousness seemed to ebb a bit at the first quarter segued into the second, but then, something else happened. He went in for a tackle after the center hiked the ball, like always–facing off against one of the brutes from the opposing team. They shoved their bodies together, but rather than just two sacks of flesh colliding (this is what it had always felt like, a fleshy violence, like when his mother tenderized cube steak with a mallet) it felt like a strange kind of pleasure, more liquid than flesh. Sensing weakness in him, his opposing tackle pushed onward, and Buddy flowed with him, his hand migrating to the other player’s crotch, gripping it, feeling the man’s surprise, feeling him halter, and then it was gone, and the game flashed back into him, the tackle blowing past him, the quarterback barely completing a pass before he was slammed to the ground.

Buddy simply stood there, unable to process what was going on in his head. There was his confusion, but something else, a giddy happiness. Like the nervousness earlier, it felt somehow foreign to him, and he again looked around the stands, trying to find the eyes he knew were focused intently on him, and trying to avoid looking at the coach, who he knew would be angry at Buddy for letting a tackle through like that. After all, Buddy never let a tackle through–that was his job, his only job, the only job he could get right.

The quarter counted down, but only grew stranger. Buddy felt…like his body was so much more sensitive than ever before. So sensitive, in fact, that during one particularly violent collision a few moments later, where his helmeted face ended up crushed against another player’s crotch, his cock spewed a huge load of cum into his jock, and he clung to the body, pressing his face as close as he could get, aware, for the first time, of how their bodies smelled here, on the field. The sweat, the grass. But also…also this musk. His musk, this other body, they were so close, and…and…

“Dude, fucking get off me, you freak,” the other player said, kicking himself free of Buddy’s hold, forcing him back. He tried to figure out what was happening to him, what he was feeling. His father talked about homosexuals, about these freaks who stuck their cocks in other men’s holes, how unnatural that was. And he was thinking about that, thinking about holes, about his holes, about other men’s holes and how…how that might feel. Was he one of those homosexuals? He’d fucked girls before, but this felt…

He shook his head. This was a game, it was the middle of the game, he was losing focus, why was he losing focus? It felt like his once empty head was…filling up with…sex. With musk, with pleasure, with bodies, with…it was so much, and so much of it was impossible to put any sort of words to. The quarter was over, and the coach was unhappy with him and yelled at him on the sideline, said he didn’t have his head in the game. He’d have to sit out the third quarter, and maybe play in the fourth, if they could build up a sizable lead. Buddy was trying to look sorry, his head bowed, but really his eyes were locked on the coach’s crotch, on the bulge there, wondering about cocks and holes again, those eyes still on him, his head filling up, and for the first time in his life, he wished his head was empty again. It had been so much simpler, but things…were suddenly becoming very, very complicated.

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 Bathroom of the Lost (Part 1)

RJ pushed open the door too hard, so it slammed into the back wall, and then stepped into the restroom. A cocky fucker, always ready for action, whether the bitch wanted it or not. One bitch he’d been accosting that night, it turned out, had had enough of him and decided to be dealt with, like all the rest. He rounded the corner, and looked around, confused, the door swinging shut behind with a bang. This bar was one of his regular hangouts, but this wasn’t the restroom. He’d been expecting a small room, barely enough space for the sink, crapper and urinal and the walls between them, but this space was at least three times the size, with no sinks at all–one side of the long room lined with urinals, the other with toilets, and not a partition in sight. The lights were dim and seemed to cut out halfway down the room, leaving much of it shrouded in darkness.  

Had the owner planned a fucking remodel or something? He turned around and grabbed for the door handle, but found himself swinging at air. There was no door behind him at all, just more wall, not even a seam to show that a door had been there at all. “What the hell?” he said, “Hey! What the fuck is this, let me out!” he screamed, his voice echoing in the tight room.

“No one can hear you,” a voice said behind him, “or maybe they can, but they don’t care.”

He spun back around, and saw a figure moving in the corner of the room. The man had been crouched down between two urinals, on the edge of the darkness. He stood up now, and he was wearing what looked like a gym outfit–a loose tank, mesh shorts, trainers–but everything he had on was filthy, the tank stained with all sorts of filth, the shorts stiff. The room smelled stale and musky, and RJ was certain that a good amount of it was him.

“I was getting worried, I’ve never been alone in here before, but–”

As the man spoke, a row of lights cut out, shrouding the stranger in total darkness, and he stopped talking entirely. RJ waited a moment or two to see if he’d continue talking, and then stepped forward into the bathroom slowly.

“Yo, you there?” he said, “Man?”

He approached the place on the edge of the darkness where the man had been, and suddenly the lights flicked back on–more of them, in fact, illuminating more of the bathroom than before–but the man had disappeared. Cautious, RJ kept going into the room, trying to remain in the middle between the row of urinals and toilets as best he could, and the lights kept flickering on as he walked. There was no way the bathroom could be this big–it made no physical sense. After about twenty feet of walking forward, he finally stopped and went to go back, only to discover that the lights had turned off, trapping him somewhere in the middle of the room, darkness on both sides.

He hurried over, planning to just run through the dark and back to the wall where he’d started…but something made him pull up short before crossing the penumbra of the shadow. This wasn’t darkness. This close, he realized it was almost solid, and something in his gut, something deep inside him, told him that he shouldn’t go in, that he needed to stay in the light, that he was somehow safe in the light, although he didn’t know what that might mean, safe. Where had that man gone? He shouted out again, but his voice seemed to disappear into the void. He was about to step back from the darkness, when one row of lights flicked on again, right in front of him, and the man appeared inches from his face, facing the other direction, blinking quickly–like he’d emerged from hours in the dark, rather than a minute.

He was…different too. He looked to be even grungier than before, and that ripe musky smell from before had only grown stronger, and…and something else, something else about it too, it was making him hard, it was making him…want to fuck, and he let out a moan, unable to help himself.

“Oh god,” the stranger said, “Oh please, not again, oh fuck…” he didn’t have a chance to get a good look at himself before RJ pushed him up against the wall between two urinals and started licking his sweaty, greasy neck, grinding his cock against him, the musk shutting off his mind little by little, making him unable to think about anything beyond fucking this man, this stranger. RJ tried to get a grip on himself, tried to stop himself. The man was pushing at him, but he only grew rougher, yanking down the man’s pants and slamming his cock deep in the man’s filthy ass. The idea of fucking another man had always turned RJ’s guts, but suddenly the desire to fuck this hole had consumed all of his thoughts.

“You have to stop, please, you have to try and keep control of yourself!” the man screamed, “This is what it wants, what it wants, but you have to, please…”

But RJ couldn’t stop, and he didn’t stop, for what felt like several hours. He raped the nasty stranger, licking up his sweat and grease as he did, swallowing it all down, as much of it as he could, and he would have kept going too, if the lights hadn’t suddenly switched off above them both, and something like hands had dragged him away from the stranger, and into the bathroom’s dark void.

Master of Men (Part 1)

No one had told him that taking it easy would be so difficult. In the military, there had been order and regimen, every day had had a purpose and a script that he could follow. Now that Paul was out–no, he had to be honest with himself–now that he was discharged, he was finding it difficult to adjust to the easy-going life he’d been trying to protect. The wife he’d had while he was overseas couldn’t handle him this close, and she’d left him. Thankfully they hadn’t succeeded in getting pregnant yet–he suspected that she’d been taking birth control, even though they’d been “trying” for months. It was like she was terrified of being tied to him. So what if he could be a bit aggressive? That’s what he’d been trained to be. No one could understand how different this all was. Thankfully his brother Jason was willing to let him stay with him while he figured out how to adjust.

They had been so similar when they were younger, but in their years apart, they had diverged. The Jason he remembered had been loud and brash, muscular, eager to follow in his older brother’s athletic footsteps, but a knee injury his senior year of high school had grounded him back at home. It was obvious from his limp that the injury had never healed right, and the weight he’d put on probably didn’t help matters, turning into a rather fat young man. He also always seemed to be a bit…distant from Paul, although Paul was so distant from everyone, he wasn’t entirely sure it wasn’t just him imagining things. He’d also come out of the closet while Paul was on tour, and he seemed…happier for sure. Paul wasn’t thrilled about living with a fag of course, but Jason assured him that he wasn’t particularly active. Besides, where else was he going to go? He hadn’t managed to hold down a job–everything he did seemed to end with him screaming at someone, or punching a hole in the wall–and Jason assured him he had more than enough money to support them while his brother found his footing again.

Jason seemed pleased to have some company. He lived alone in a small house in the quiet suburban neighborhood. Paul found it relaxing, and spent most of his days working out with his set of weights at home and taking walks around the neighborhood, where he started to meet the people who lived around them. They were all nice older men capable of good, safe conversation, each thanked Paul for his service and were interested in what he was doing now that he was home. None of them probed into the trauma they could all sense. It took Paul some time to realize that he’d never once seen a wife, or a child, on the street in front of their house–in fact, the entire neighborhood seemed to be home to men. He asked Jason about this, and his brother just shrugged, saying he’d never noticed it, and assured him more than a few of the men were married, and left it at that. He began to notice other strange events occurring around the neighborhood, however. His brother would often receive calls on the phone, and immediately leave the house, only to return hours later, and refuse to give Paul any information regarding where he’d been. The men seemed…overly familiar with each other. Not in a physical way, but like they had some secret passed between them when he wasn’t looking.

One man down the street seemed to catch Paul more often than the others, an accountant by the name of Craig Wheetly. He was short and rotund, with a horseshoe of hair where he was balding and a thick black mustache, but he had a big laugh that always got Paul laughing with him somehow. It was the thick of summer when Craig asked Paul if he’d help him out with reorganizing his garage–he wanted to install some new shelving, and he figured with a big guy like Paul helping him, it’d be done in no time. Paul was reluctant–he didn’t work very well with others–but he came around when he promised to pay him a hundred dollars a day. His brother was generous, but didn’t provide him with much of an allowance.

It was the late morning and still cool when they got started. It was a spacious three car garage, but it was sweltering after only a few hours. Paul suggested that they at least open the garage doors, but Craig kept diverting the conversation and they stayed closed, the room growing hotter and hotter. Craig pulled his shirt off, revealing a flabby gut soaked and glistening with sweat, and he convinced Paul to pull his off as well. As he was working close to Craig, he began to notice how musky the older man was. He’d smelled plenty of pit stink in the army, but nothing…nothing like this. And he was thirsty, all of a sudden. He asked for water, and Craig just kept talking over him. He had…had to drink something, he was gonna…

Paul got down and started lapping the sweat up from Craig’s gut, drinking it down, moaning and groaning all the while. Craig told him he was being very good, as he ran his hands through Paul’s sweat soaked buzzcut, walked over to a chair, stripping his shorts off as he walked, and let his muscular bull of a neighbor continue licking him from his soft chins to the bottoms of his feet. Paul didn’t understand what was going on. The heat was addling his brain, but something else was wrong too. He was…enjoying this. He was enjoying the taste of this old man’s sweat, and when Craig told him it was ok for him to take his pants off and jerk off, that he knew it would be hard for him to contain himself, he did just that, and exploded over and over again, leaving massive puddles of his cum splattered across the cement floor of the garage. Sucking Craig’s long, thick cock only seemed like the natural thing to do. The older man leaked precum like he sweat, and Paul swallowed it all down, feeling his thirst abate bit by bit, but not enough, never enough. The harder he sucked, the more liquid poured forth, but Craig seemed pleased but unaffected, and never once came.

Craig eventually stood up, and Paul chased his cock, barely noticing as the older man secured a leather collar around his neck, and attached a lead to it. “Come on then, you’re as ready as you’ll ever be. The ceremony is about to start, and we wouldn’t want you to be late.”

Coach’s Summer Training – Part 2

Phillip Emerson was my next pupil. I’d met him while helping out with a few local wrestling meets at the college level. Part of what I liked about him was he was more than an exceptional all around athlete, he was incredibly smart to boot, in the midst of pursuing some degree in an advanced math program. Just the kind of guy I can destroy, and love every second doing it, usually with a bit of challenge along the way. Wrestling was his chance to not think for a while, he told me, and I figured that by the time we were through, he wouldn’t be thinking much at all. We spent a day in the ring getting nice and sweaty, and I offered him a massage to help him cool down afterward. I started on his shoulders, and immediately his body went limp, and he let out a groan. I urged him to relax, to just focus on his good it felt as I kneaded all the tension from my body. He still eventually noticed what I was doing, of course, once he saw his legs shrivelling up and disappearing into his torso. I started pulling him on, and he couldn’t do anything but flap his withering arms at me, his head shrinking down into his neck of the shirt as I pushed my head through. I sniffed the sweaty fabric and jacked off, making sure to shoot up the front–the first load of seed of many more to come.

As I expected, Phillip was too smart to be a screamer–he was a bargainer. He obviously knew that I wanted something out of him, but he didn’t know what. His mind was too adept for me to wear him down to the breaking point like I had Shawn–so I decided to work on him a little differently. I proceeded with what I had been planning, and I started a long, intense workout regimen which had Phillip soaked in my sweat from dawn to dusk, and as I lifted weights and ran my miles, I counted. I counted steps, I counted sets and reps, and I counted at him, and soon, unable to help himself, he was counting too. He didn’t exactly have much else to do, right? And he did love math, after all. Then, while he was busy counting, I could sneak around in his head, sand off off a little cleverness here, erode a little vocabulary there, take off a little bit of wit over there. By the time he noticed that he was getting dumber, it was too late–then he started screaming.

Thankfully he got too dumb to figure out why he should scream soon after that. Soon his mind was so far gone that pretty much all he could do was count–and not very high at that. He’d usually lose track somewhere around ninety during our runs–that jump to one hundred always seemed to confuse him, so he’d happily start back at one again over and over and over again. He was much better with sets and reps, of course–smaller numbers were better, he said. I had him eagerly sucking up all of my sweat at this point too. You know those fabrics that are supposed to wick away moisture? They don’t have anything on a jock trapped in a shirt sucking all your sweat up and drinking it down for you. I had also been making him bigger this whole time, baggier, with big arm holes and a low scooping neck. When I was happy with him, I decided it was probably time for the finale.

As I said, if I focus hard enough, I can keep someone as clothing even when they aren’t on my body. One morning, I finally peeled Phillip off my wet body, laid him out on a table, got out a black sharpie, and I started drawing. On the back I wrote “MUSCLE FAGGOT”, in big, thick letters, and then filled in the rest with smaller stuff. Some of it was writing–“Musk pig”,  “Fuck my holes” with an arrow pointing down the back–but everything else was just swirls and blocks of black ink all over the shirt. He didn’t understand what I was doing at all–but once he was more black ink than white (well, “white” I suppose, he was really more of a dingy brown at this point) I released my focus, and the brand new Phillip Emerson emerged from his form.

He was huge–at least six and a half feet tall, and packed with muscle from neck to calf. Hell, he could have been an amazing bodybuilder, if it wasn’t for all of his tattoos. He was covered everywhere, even up onto his neck, face, and shaved head with tribal swirls. Of course, the centerpiece on his back was “MUSCLE FAGGOT” in massive letters so large it had to be spread down over two lines, and the simple minded oaf didn’t really know what was going on, but he could smell me, he could smell my musk, and so he got down and started cleaning my body for me. I fucked his surprisingly tight hole in return, before dropping him off at his home, a local gym. He lived upstairs there, and worked out day and night–when he wasn’t getting gangbanged by the regulars in the locker room. Being as stupid as he was came with some issues of its own. He was lucky that the owner was a sadistic fucker who loved the idea of keeping a big, stupid, muscle faggot pet for himself and all of his friends. Still, because he didn’t quite understand social standards, Phillip’s dick was kept locked 24/7, so he couldn’t just drop his shorts anytime and start jacking off like a pig during business hours. When he kept stripping his clothes off anyway, his master forced him to wear singlets, because he was too stupid to figure out how to take them off without help–and so he never did, usually wearing them until they started ripping and tearing at the seams, his locked cock obvious underneath the spandex. Needless to say, I keep a membership there now, but rarely to work out–I mostly just like to drop in on my muscle faggot on a regular basis. He’s always so excited when he smells me coming–even though he doesn’t even know why.

Rick and the Beast – Part 6

Prick hadn’t realized he’d been in the security offices for as long as he had–it was now easily eleven o’clock at night, which was a bit of a relief, because there were fewer people around to witness his walk of shame. But a new voice piped up in his head–

Why are you ashamed? You’re a pig! Everyone should know you’re a pig. Besides, doesn’t it feel kind of nice, your fat hanging out like that?

That voice made more sense than he would have liked, but he had to focus. Whatever Master had done to him, he could fight it, he could beat him if he just–

Fuck I’m hungry. I should eat something.

Prick looked around, sniffing the air. He could smell food nearby, and he followed the scent. It led him off the path to his dorm around back behind the cafeteria to the dumpsters. Without really thinking about it, he started digging in the dumpsters and trash for anything he could find, grunting and snorting as he stuffed himself. He didn’t hear the back door open, but when the older, chubby cook screamed, Prick looked up from the dumpster and saw him silhouetted in the light from inside. He could smell him too, he could smell his sweat, he could smell…cum…

The cook’s eyes dilated–he could smell Prick too. “Awww fuck, it’s just…just a piggy,” the man said. “Fat fucking pig, fuck you’re disgusting.”

Prick got down on his knees and asked the cook politely if he would feed him his cum, the cook–who had never once before considered letting a man touch his cock, leered at Prick, unzipped his fly, strutted up and skullfucked him. Prick just sucked as hard as he could, eager for cum. He could taste the precum on his tongue, but that only made him hungrier for the main course. After a minute, the cook came and Prick sucked it all down. The cook dropped the bag of trash in front of the pig and went back inside; Prick rummaged around in it for everything he could eat, and then hefted himself back up. At least he was full now–but what had he been doing? His mind was a jumble.

Why did I do that?

Fuck, that guy’s cum was delicious! I wonder if he’d give me seconds?

Fuck, I’m disgusting, I’m so fucking gross, and I can’t even stop myself, I can’t do anything right, I don’t know what to do–

Fuck, my hole could use a fuck.

Do I smell piss? Piss would be good too.

I need to get home, I need to get home, and think.

I need some more cock.

Back to his room, that made the most sense, didn’t it? Prick walked back around the cafeteria. He passed a few men on the way, and all of them looked down at him as soon as they caught a whiff of him, but none of them needed service, and Prick just wanted to get home, he just wanted to be alone, he just wanted to think for a second, and sort out all of his thoughts, and try and figure out what Master did. He fumbled with the lock, finally throwing open the door, and found his roommate, Josh, sitting on his bed reading a comic book.

Fuck.

Josh looked at him for a moment, confused, until Prick’s musk washed over him, and his eyes glazed over, one hand reaching down, groping his cock through the pajamas he was wearing.

Don’t do it, don’t do it

Prick licked his lips, shut the door behind him, and waddled over to his roommates bed. He could tell he wanted it slow, and so he started edging him, but after a few minutes, there was a knock at the door. Prick and Josh ignored it the first couple of times, but eventually Josh ordered him to see who it was, and it was several men from their floor, who had been lured to their room by the smell of Prick wafting down the hallway. Prick was so fucking excited, seeing all the men he could service right there, wanting him–

No! No, you don’t want this, you don’t! Run, fucking Run!

But why would he run? He really needed to shut that voice up, it was telling him to do so many bad things. He went back to sucking Josh off, presenting his ass for the steady stream of men who came in to use their floor pig’s services. After an hour of edging, Josh finally rewarded him with a massive load, and any men on the floor who’d needed his services had come by, pumping at least a dozen loads in his now loose, sloppy hole. Prick considered getting in bed, but pigs don’t get to sleep in beds. He asked Josh if he could use some of his dirty clothes to make a bed, and Josh allowed it, after Prick cleaned his feet for him, and the pig curled up, his nose shoved into some of Josh’s dirty underwear, snoring and snorting in his sleep, at least until Josh woke him up by shoving his morning wood into his mouth, fucking a load of cum down his throat, and chasing it with a blast of sour morning piss, before he got dressed and headed for class.

Prick woke with a clearer head. In the mirror, he was happy to see that some of the changes which had happened the night before had worn off. He had hair again, for instance, but it had grown back in lighter in color and thinner than before. He also had lost some weight, but not nearly enough to make much of a difference, and he still couldn’t feel anything from his tiny, worthless cock. And yet, part of him was also sad–sad to see that beautiful body gone, sad to feel shame and doubt and fear once more. His phone buzzed, it was his master, summoning him to the frat house. Prick found the biggest clothes of his he could, pulled them on, and headed out, turning plenty of men’s heads as he passed with his weakened musk, but none of them could bring themselves to use the pig in the light of day.

At least, not yet.

(To be continued eventually)

Rick and the Beast – Part 3

It’s been a while since I started this one. Here’s parts one and two as a refresher.

The next couple of weeks were a new kind of hell for Rick, as he fell under the tighter and tighter control of Jim Newman, known around campus simply as “The Beast”. He no longer had the option of ignoring the texts he received, at least, not if he wanted to cum again. The Beast took full advantage of this, and regularly forced Rick to excuse himself from his classes in order to go pleasure his master wherever he happened to be at the moment. More often than not, the need for Rick’s holes would arise somewhere public, usually the bathroom, locker room, or even out on an athletic field behind the bleachers. He lived in constant terror that someone would see what was happening, and yet discovery would also have brought some relief–at least then his secret would be out; he had no idea how much longer he’d be able to keep it burning inside him at this rate.

His moments away from his master were just as terrible for different reasons. He lived in constant fear that someone would discover his chastity, which required him to shower very late at night, and experiment with a variety of different ways to try and keep his roommate, Josh, from seeing him naked. As such, his hygiene began to slip. Wearing the same clothes for days on end–even sleeping in them, became easier than daring to change underwear. The same with showering–it became much easier to simply not bother at all. But, he discovered that he was beginning to pick up new habits, the more he interacted with The Beast. The most obvious was his appetite–it seemed like ever since his feeding out behind the kitchens that night, it was now impossible for him to be full. Each week, The Beast would text him late at night, demanding that he return to the dumpsters, where he would again be stuffed. Those were the only moments he’d felt the least bit full, and he was growing increasingly terrified that The Beast was turning him into someone he had no interest in being. It was that fear that finally pushed him over the edge–he simply had no choice anymore. He would have to report what was happening to him.

But who should he tell? His first thought was a teacher, but given his poor attendance and shoddy work, he hadn’t developed a close relationship with any of them. In fact, they all seemed to rather despise him, including his advisor. A friend? He had no friends. Besides, who could even understand what he was going through? They also wouldn’t have any power, and if The Beast found out that he’d told a student, he feared for their safety almost as much as his own. That left one final possibility in his mind–he would have to go to campus security and talk to someone there, and then go to the police. It took him a few days to work up the courage to go into the building, and finally say to the young man working at the desk that he needed to report a rape. Much to his surprise, he was very understanding, and escorted him into a small interview room, asked him a few basic questions about himself, and then left, telling him that someone would be with him shortly to talk to him.

For the next several minutes, Rick allowed himself to feel relieved. It was all going to be ok after all. He’d just tell them what had happened, and he’d be free at last. And then the door opened, and in there in the doorway was a man so large he had to stoop slightly and turn to the side to enter the room. He was older, with short greying hair, dressed in a security uniform stretched tight across his muscular physique, and for some reason Rick couldn’t take his eyes off the man’s crotch as he walked around to the other side of the table. He sat down across from Rick, introduced himself as Officer Pike, and began asking him questions about the rape–Rick did his best to answer him, but it was getting harder and harder for him to focus. The questions became more intimate and personal, and Rick was feeling uncomfortable answering them, in part because he didn’t quite like the answers that were coming out of his mouth.

“And how did it feel, when Mr. Newman thrust his big, fat cock inside you? Did it hurt?”

“Yes sir…Yes, it hurt more than anything.”

“But it was worth it, in the end, wasn’t it? Because that big cock ended up fucking the cum right out of you.”

“”I mean, I came sir, but I didn’t–”

“I suppose, my main concern is–how can it have been rape if you came? I mean, that means you must have enjoyed it on some level.”

“I mean, it did feel kind of good, but…but I didn’t want him…to…”

“You didn’t what, what him to make you feel good?”

“No! I mean, that’s not…”

The officer leaned back, and put his hands back behind his head. Rick found himself staring at the sweat stains in the pits of his uniform, and licked his lips.

“Have you had any contact with Mr. Newman since that initial incident?”

“I mean, yeah…I gave him my phone number–”

“You gave your alleged rapist your phone number?”

“Not…I mean, not because I wanted to, sir, but because he made me…”

“Why didn’t you just give him a fake number?”

Why hadn’t he done that? That made so much sense, but it hadn’t occured to him at the time. “I…I don’t know.”

“So, you have seen him since. Have you had sex on any of those occasions?”

Rick was silent. He suddenly didn’t want to talk anymore. “I think…I think I should go, I don’t feel good.”

“Oh, I’m afraid it’s too late for that,” Officer Pike said, “Stand up and strip.”

Rick wanted to ask him what he was talking about, but his body was already moving, getting up from the table and removing all of his clothes, until he was completely naked, aside from his metal chastity device around his cock, which was desperately trying to harden within the confines.

“Tell me what you want to do right now.”

“I want to lick your pits sir. I want to lick your sweaty body clean, and I want to suck your cock, and I want you to fuck me sir, I want you to fuck me rough.” Rick kept trying to tell his mouth to stop talking, but it just fell from him, all the fantasies that had been flying through his mind since Officer Pike had entered the room.

“Get down here and lick my boots clean, pig, and if you do a good job, maybe I’ll put my big cock in your hole.”

Rick got down without a question, crawled across the tile floor and began licking the Officer’s boots clean. This close to him the smell of him was overwhelming, but it wasn’t until he was bent over the table, the officer’s cock buried in his ass, that he finally realized what he was smelling. He was smelling The Beast. It was the same smell–if he closed his eyes, he could smell his master behind him fucking him deep, except Officer Pike’s cock was slightly shorter, but quite a bit thicker. After he came, he ordered Rick to sit down in a chair, handcuffed him to the back, and left the room, telling him that he’d receive the rest of his punishment in a few hours, when their Master finished with practice and came to deal with Rick himself.