Tag: musk

Commission: Bubba’s New Pup

Commissioned by Anonymous

Officer Nate Jensen climbed out of his patrol car, hefted his belt up, and heaved a sigh. At least the beat up truck had pulled over–half the time, these crazy rednecks would just hit the gas pedal harder, and make him chase them down. Usually they were high out of their mind on meth too–with gun racks hanging in the window. What a terrible fucking job–he’d always wanted to be a police officer, but if he could go back and tell his high school self that it would mean long night shifts sitting on the side of the road dealing with dumb, drugged out, aggressive rednecks, then maybe he’d have pursued something else. Still, no gun rack in this one that he could see–and hopefully the guy was just drunk.

He went around the driver’s side of the cab. The window was already rolled down, and sitting there with a shit eating, slightly toothless grin was a hefty bubba, hairy chest, mullet, and a ragged wifebeater. But what caught his attention most was this strange smell. It was dank, like pot, but even then, that wasn’t quite right. Some other kind of drug? He looked the driver in the eyes, but his pupils looked normal. What in the hell was it? “I…Could I get your license and registration please?”

“Sure thing, officer,” the man drawled, and leaned over to the glove box. Nate tried to keep an eye out for a weapon that might appear from nowhere, but that stink was still on his mind. Where was it coming from? He was taking deeper breaths through his nose now, trying to pinpoint what it was. He realized that the redneck was holding the paper and card out to him to take–had he really just zoned out? “Ya’ll right? Ya look tired, sir. Long shift?”

“Oh…uh, yeah. Just…just tired is all,” Nate said, and took the paper and license without looking at them. “Sir, I…uh…I can’t help but notice that there’s a strange smell in the cab of your truck. Have you been using drugs tonight?”

The redneck laughed, “Nuh uh boy! That’s jus’ me is all. I’m one stinky dude, right? I fuckin’ love it though–my pits ‘r so fuckin’ ripe, ya wanna sniff ‘em?” He hefted his arms up over his head, showing off his thick bush under his arms, and a unavoidable wave of the odor  washed over Nate at the window. The license and paper tumbled from his hand, his jaw dropped open, tongue out, panting a bit heavily. “Yeah, that’s a good boy, come on, lean in here ‘n take a good sniff a mah pits.”

He tried to stop himself, he tried to scream. He leaned his hands on the sill of the window and pushed his head in, sniffing deeply, tongue out. Fuck, it smelled so fucking rank, how could anyone smell so fucking disgusting? The bubba grabbed the back of the officer’s head and pulled him in, pressing his nose into his pit, and Nate felt his body shake uncontrollably. It took him a moment to realize he’d just shot a load into the front of his uniform pants, but he couldn’t do anything about that, he had to smell, and lick, and lick and lick it all up like a good boy, a good boy, yeah…He was grinding his wet crotch against the side of the truck, humping it, eyes vacant, tongue running it’s way through the hairs. The bubba reached over to the passenger seat, grabbed a leather dog collar, and with one hand, draped it across the back of Nate’s neck. He felt it there and tried to pull away, but his body wouldn’t respond. The bubba took his time, drawing the collar together tight against Nate’s neck, and when it fastened shut, his body started sliding backwards, his legs collapsing under him, until he landed on his ass and back on the side of the road.

He had to get up. He had to get back to his car, or radio for help, but his legs weren’t cooperating. He tried to stand up, but didn’t quite know how to make his body work like that. It felt so much more natural to just stay on his hands and knees, and he tried to crawl towards his car, but the bubba stepped out of the truck with a leather leash, bent down, and clipped it to the collar around his neck.

Master, a voice said in his head, and he looked back at the heavyset redneck leering down at him, and that was the word that kept repeating in his head. Master master he’s my master obey master follow master obey obey follow serve obey… He tried to shake the thoughts out, tried to push back, but it felt like they were coming from inside his head, from some deep part of his own mind that he’d never noticed was there. He tried to shout, tried to call for help, tried to do anything, but what came out of his mouth instead was a series of barks and yelps and whimpers that he would have mistaken for a stray dog, if he hadn’t heard them come out of his own mouth.

“What do ya say, Copper? Should we head on home?” Master said.

Copper? Who was Copper? He tried to piece things together, and realized he was Copper. But he hadn’t always been Copper, right? He’d had a real name, a human name, he’d been…

Master tugged on the leash, and Copper crawled after him, around the back of the truck. He helped him up into the bed, where he saw a large animal crate with the door open. “Go on Copper, git in there boy.”

He whimpered, but did as Master commanded. Bubba leaned in, shut the door behind him, and latched it. “That’s a very good boy–yer gonna git a real nice present when we git home, Copper. Hmm…actually, how about I give ya somethin’ now? We’re a hour and a half away after all, ya’ll need somethin’ tah occupy yerself with til then. I wouldn’ want ya tryin’ tah git out a there, after all.”

Master undid his belt and dropped his jeans. Underneath, he was wearing a jockstrap, which he took off too. Copper saw that Master had one of the biggest cocks he’d ever seen, hanging there under his hefty gut, with a thick foreskin. Copper whined more, Master pulled his jeans back on commando, unlatched the door, and tossed the grey and yellow jock into the carrier with his new pup. He could smell it. It smelled foul, like piss and cum and sweat, and still he pressed his nose into it, licking at the fabric, trying to get as much of his master’s sent in and on him as he could, his cock hard and throbbing in his uniform pants. He didn’t even notice Master latch the door closed again, but suddenly they were moving, abandoning the patrol car on the side of the road.

It was a long, cold ride back to Master’s home. Shivering, Copper tried to avoid the jockstrap as best he could, but his nose kept being drawn back to it over and over again. His sense of smell…every time he smelled the jock, he could distinguish more and more from the grimy fabric. Master had shot in it recently, he could sense the fresh cum slowly drying into the old stale smell of the rest. He’d pissed in it recently too, and the bottom of the pouch, slightly brown, smelt of Master’s asscrack, and he found that particularly fascinating. His cock remained rock hard the entire time, and would occasionally shoot a load into his pants, which were growing increasingly uncomfortable. He couldn’t quite figure out why he even had clothes on–wasn’t he supposed to be naked? He was glad for them, kind of. It would have been very cold without them in the carrier, but still, pups like him weren’t supposed to wear clothes; clothes were only for masters.

His head, something was happening to his mind. It felt like, as his senses grew keener, he was slowly losing his sense of self, as a human, as a person. The worst part was that he couldn’t even tell when it was happening. As soon as something was gone, wiped from his mind or memory, he could only vaguely sense that it had been there at all. As terrified as he was to know where Master was taking him, when he felt the truck slow down and turn off onto a gravel road, he was eager just to get away from the jock, to try and get his head on straight, to try and figure out what he could do for master–no, no that wasn’t right, was it? He had to get away from him, he had to try and run, right? He didn’t know why he wanted to run though. Master wasn’t a bad man, Master was good, Master was very good, and he would be a bad boy, a bad dog if he ran away, Master would be so worried!

He shook his head. This couldn’t be happening to him, it couldn’t. The truck came to a stop, and Copper saw Master get out of the cab and lumber around to the back of the truck. “How’s mah new pup doin’? Ya’ll right in there?”

Copper whined. Master undid the latch on the door, and he stumbled out on his hands and knees, reached the gate of the truck and tumbled out onto the dusty ground.

“Careful Copper–Ya ain’t used tah bein’ a pup yet, but ya’ll git the hang a it soon as we git rid a all that bad man in yer head.”

Bad man in his head? That made a surprising amount of sense to him for some reason. He did have a man in his head, but he was a pup, he was Copper, Master’s pup, right? He wasn’t a man at all. Another voice pushed back, told him he was being deceived, but Master wouldn’t deceive him, right? He rolled up onto his hands and knees Master running his hand down his back, petting him, letting him know he was being a very good boy. Copper was panting. Copper was happy. He could smell his master, he could smell him right there next to him, and smelling him made him happy, made him feel safe. Master hooked the leash back to his pup’s collar, and lead him over to a single level, rather ramshackle looking farmhouse.

Inside, Copper was assaulted by a massive number of smells. Master, he could smell master everywhere, but also smoke, and also…also other pups. Other pups like him. One…two other pups. He looked around, and then up at master, whining a bit. “Yeah, don’ worry, Buddy ‘n Rover ‘r out back, in the dog run. Ya’ll meet ‘em in a bit–I’m sure they’ll take a likin’ tah ya. First though, we gotta git rid a that bad man fer good. First, let’s git them clothes off ya…”

From his belt, Master pulled a buck knife and he started cutting off the constricting uniform from Copper’s body. He felt so much better with only his collar on! Copper couldn’t believe it, and he gave a full body shake when everything was off him. He felt more like a real pup already. He panted up at Master, trying to show him how happy he was, and Master gave him a scratch on the back of his neck.

“That’s a real good boy–yer gonna be a easy one, ain’t ya?” He pushed on Copper’s side, and he sensed what Master wanted, and rolled over onto his back. Master gave him a belly rub, and Copper panted happily. “Looks like yer comin’ along nice–ya already got yerself a bright red puppy cock.”

Curious, Copper lifted his head and saw that something had happened to his crotch–where his human cock and balls had been, he now saw a fleshy sheath running up his belly, and as Master scratched around it, a bright red head suddenly poked out, a cock unlike any he’d seen on his body before. “Glad tah see my jockstink worked it’s magic on ya–but ya still got a little ways tah go before I can trust ya out back wit’ the other boys. How ‘bout ya git a taste a master’s meat, eh Copper?”

Copper rolled back onto his hands and knees, and Master dropped his jeans. letting his massive cock flop out. Copper pushed his nose against the head, and then ran his tongue up into Master’s foreskin, tasting the cheese he’d smelled on the pouch of the jock, feeling his puppy cock push completely out of his sheath. Master told him to open up, and he started thrusting the cock down Copper’s throat, and as he did, he could feel his face warping and contorting, his mouth pushing out into a muzzle, his tongue growing longer, teeth sharpening into fangs which he was careful to keep away from his master’s delicate flesh. The bad man in his head was horrified, but he was powerless. The only man Copper listened to was Master, he was the only man that mattered. Master tensed up after a few minutes and fed his new pup a load of cum. Huffing and panting, he pulled his cock free of his pup’s mouth, looked down at Copper and frowned. “Hmm…not quite done yet. I got a idea though. How’d ya like a taste a Master’s ass, Copper? That make ya a happy pup?”

He went over to the couch and bent over the side, Copper came up behind him and started licking at Master’s filthy crack, shoving his new nose against the hole, shivering with pleasure. Unable to stop himself, he reared up, trying to grapple the sides of his master and started grinding his cock against his leg, humping him, licking Master’s ass from his snout, eyes glazing over. He could feel the bad man dying away now, Master was all he needed to think about, didn’t even need to think. Just a pup, a dumb obedient pup. With a howl, he shot a load of his new pup cum across the side of the couch, and then dismounted from Master, hoping he hadn’t done a bad thing. He’d just been such a horny pup.

Master hefted himself up, and laughed. “Ya sure got spirit, I’ll give ya that. But yer at the bottom of the pack right now, Copper. Still, I’ll let Buddy and Rover break that intah ya tahnight. Come on.”

Not at all sure what Master was talking about, he walked after Master through the house. His legs felt strange–his hindquarters were nearly all dog, and he felt a tail wagging along behind him. His forelegs still looked mostly human, except for that his hands had become paws. Still, he wasn’t a real dog–just a pup. Out in the backyard, he saw a fenced area, and two sets of eyes staring at them in the early morning light. Master opened the gate and pushed Copper in, and he found himself faced with two massive pups. Master obviously liked his pups to work out–while their hindquarters were sleek, their upper bodies bulged with muscle, and both of them started snarling. Copper snarled back, but the first smacked him with a paw. He tried to fight, but in a matter of moments he was pinned to the ground as the first pup, Buddy, mounted him, and when he’d cum up Copper ass, the second pup took his turn. Master watched the show, seeing the strong will in Copper’s eyes fade away. By the time Rover had finished, Copper was a new dog–deferential, eager to please, and subservient to the rest of the pack.

Satisfied with his new addition, Master headed inside, letting the three dogs get to know each other better in the dog run. He’d start training Copper up in a few days, after he’d recovered physically and his new pup’s personality had had time to settle in. Still, he had no doubts that Copper would be as good a pup as all the rest–and after he’d sold off Buddy and Rover to good homes looking for a kinky gay pup–Copper could have his turn as an alpha, and show future pups the ropes too.

Commission: Cory Finds His Coach

Commissioned by: @goodboymusclejock 

Cory watched the scrawny guy over at the free weights, bench pressing the unweighted bar, face red and straining, and worried the guy might hurt himself, he went over. “Do you need a spotter?”

The guy on the bench just kept going. Cory repeated himself, and the guy finally noticed him standing there, and a bit surprised, he lost control of the bar. Cory grabbed it and helped rack it back up.

“You really should be more careful–you should start with the machines until you have more muscle control.”

“I’m–I’m fine,” the guy said, “Just leave me alone.”

Cory insisted on spotting him through his reps on the bench, and then left the guy to his own devices. If he wanted to hurt himself, then Cory couldn’t do anything to stop him. However, Cory noticed the guy was at the gym every day after that, as well. Cory liked to stay fit, and so he went five days a week, but that wasn’t a schedule someone new to the gym should be able to keep up with. Even stranger, the guy was usually there when Cory arrived, and still on the floor after he left. One night, a week later, he hung around long enough to follow the guy into the locker room. He was covered in sweat and obviously exhausted, but in a week, Cory could already see that the guy’s body was growing a bit larger.

His suspicions were confirmed, when he saw the guy pull a pill bottle out of his bag. He took a capsule out and swallowed it down, and Cory stocked over. “You know, if you’re going to take steroids–which you shouldn’t–at least be smart enough to get the shots. Those pills will wreck your liver.”

The guy stared up at him. He was several inches shorter than Cory, but he slipped the bottle back into his bag. “They’re not steroids–and, and even if they were, just mind your own business.”

“Those things can kill you.”

The guy didn’t answer, he just left the locker room without changing. Cory shook his head, and figured there was nothing he could do about it.

Cory didn’t have much time to think on the stranger however–he was busy planning a month long business trip across Asia at work. He left the next week, and when he flew back into town a month later, he was happy to see that the scrawny guy had obviously abandoned his foolish plan, since he wasn’t at the gym when he got there.

There was, however, someone else new that Cory didn’t recognize. He was hanging around the free weights, primarily, a brutish looking guy, heavily muscled, with a hairy chest and a thick beard coating his chin and neck, and lank, greasy hair that kept falling in his face as he lifted. He was quite the nuisance, actually–he never wiped down his equipment, and so everything was coated with a sheen of his sweat. Still, something kept bothering Cory about him…something about the guy’s clothes. They were so small on him! In fact, later that week, he heard a loud rip of fabric across the gym, and saw that the guy had split open his shorts doing deadlifts. Even with everyone staring at him, he finished his reps, and then stared stupidly down at the shredded fabric around his feet, and the yellowed jockstrap he had on containing what looked like a huge package.

Cory was close by when it happened, and he found himself unable to look away. Sure, he was gay, but this guy was disgusting…right? He’d never really been interested in brutes like that before. The guy retreated from the floor and left the gym without any apparent embarrassment, but when Cory saw the ripped shorts of the ground, he realized that he had seen them before–they were the same one’s the scrawny guy had been wearing a month earlier!

That couldn’t be possible. No one, even on steroids, could grow that fast, or like that. But he had to know. He got a chance to confront him a few days later in the locker room, and he went up to the man as he got his bag from his locker. “What…what the hell are you taking?”

The brute just smirked, “I jus’ wanna bulk up man, is all,” he said, “Mind yer own business.”

This close to the brute, Cory felt his breath catch in his throat. That stench–when was the last time this guy had showered? He smelled…he smelled…Cory shivered. His cock was rock hard in his pants. The brute took a step closer. “Thanks for spottin’ me that first day though,” he said, “I didn’ know what I was doin’.”

“It…it was nothing,” Cory squeaked out. The brute lifted his arms up over his head in a stretch and then rested one arm high on the lockers, staring at Cory as he did. The bush of air in his armpit was sopping wet, and reeked. Cory couldn’t believe how tall he was–had he just remembered him differently? He’d been shorter before, but now he was taller, so much bigger than him now. The smell was so strong…so fucking nasty…

Cory stepped forward and buried his face in one of the brute’s hairy armpits, grinding his crotch against the man’s thick thigh. He came almost immediately, and the Brute shoved him down onto his knees, whipped his cock out, and after a couple of strokes unloaded his cum all over Cory’s face.

“Fuckin’ hot man…” the brute said, “Might need yer help a bit more often.”

He left Cory quivering on his knees in the locker room, trying to understand what had just happened. He wiped the cum up with his gym towel, and then started sucking on it, unable to help himself. He tried to shower when he got home, but he couldn’t bear the thought of washing off the stench of the brute’s cum. He jacked off all night long, towel pressed to his nose, imagining the scene over and over, and the next day, he was at the gym before the brute arrived, hungry for more. They met in the locker room, Cory immediately licking up the brute’s filthy body–he dragged Cory back into the shower, shoved him up against the tile wall, and wormed his cock into Cory’s ass dry. It hurt, but he needed it, he needed it so much. The brute came quick, and then pulled out, but it wasn’t enough. Cory followed him around all day in the gym, rubbing his body into the sweaty benches, losing himself in the brute’s stench, cumming twice in his own shorts just from the smell alone. They stayed at the gym all day, and when they went back into the locker room, the man pulled out the pill bottle, shook out a capsule, and held it out to Cory. “Take it.”

Cory just stared at it.

“Take it. You wanna be big like me? Stink like me? Take it, you’ll love it.”

“No…No, I can’t,” Cory said, “Look at you, this is crazy. Just a month…a month ago, you were…”

“I was weak,” the brute said, “Weak, ‘n clean ‘n smart. Now I’m big ‘n dumb ‘n filthy, it’s so fuckin’ hot…You’ll be so hot too, man.”

Cory stepped back.

“If you don’t take it, you don’t get my cock no more,” the brute said, groping himself through his shorts.

Cory whimpered.

“You don’t get to smell me no more. No more sweat, nothin’.”

Cory shook his head no, but watched the brute drop his shorts, and let his cock slip out of his filthy jock strap. It was half hard and leaking; he coated the pill in his precum, then pressed it against Cory’s lips. Shivering, he opened his mouth, letting the brute slide the pill in along with his finger. Cory swallowed the slick pill and then sucked the brute’s finger clean. It wasn’t enough, he pressed in closer, closer to the reeking pits, pressing their hot sweat together.

“I don’t even know your name,” Cory said.

“You can call me…Coach, Sport.”

Something was wrong with him. He was suddenly too hot, and sweating profusely. His body was shaking with energy, not only erotic, but overwhelming motion. He needed to work out, he needed to move and lift and shove and fuck! Coach shoved him up against the locker, they started making out, groping each other openly as men passed by, trying to ignore them, and then Cory dragged Coach into the sauna and fucked himself up and down on the rigid cock, feeling his legs start to burn from the exertion, desperate for the burn. He hadn’t worked out nearly enough, earlier, but when he tried to tell Coach that, the brute told him they were done for the day, and going home instead. He could barely contain himself as he followed Coach home to his apartment a few blocks from the gym, even though they sprinted all the way there, and the next morning, still wearing his workout clothes from the day before, rings around his eyes from not sleeping but desperate to work out, he accepted another pill from Coach without hesitation and they lifted together all day, pausing for the occasional fuck in the sauna, Cory feeling cum leak from his raw ass, sliming the leather seats of the benches that he would lick up, eager for Coach’s approval. However, close to ten hours later, when they were back in the locker room, Coach pressed two pills on him, and as much as Cory wanted to take them, he hesitated.

“This can’t be safe.”

Coach pulled him close, “Trust yer coach man, ya got lots a catchin’ up to do.”

“No–no, I can’t, I can’t do this. I missed work today, I can’t do this anymore.”

“You didn’t miss work man, you got work later tonight,” Coach put the two pills right in Cory’s mouth, “Need you good and energetic, you see. Everybody’s gonna wanna piece a yer hot ass.”

Cory felt the bitter pills dissolving in his mouth, but he didn’t spit them out. He swallowed. He raced his coach back to the apartment, and by the time they got there, time seemed to be moving too fast, he couldn’t quite keep up with what was going on. Coach stripped his work out clothes off of him and then started dragging out a bunch of leather gear from the closet. “Benn makin’ enough as a top, Sport, but the real money’s in bottomin’. Lucky we met, eh? You’re gonna be my dumb little muscle whore slave.”

Cory couldn’t quite seem to make his mouth work right to form anything other then a series of grunts and moans. His cock was so hard, he couldn’t keep his hands off of it. He let Coach put the leather gear on him, cinching the harness tight against his muscles, a thick plug in his ass, leather boots, a collar, a black hood. Coach said he looked so hot, and couldn’t resist giving him one fuck to loosen him up before they hit the clubs.

The night was a blur. Cory was never entirely sure where he was. Coach had him on a lead, and he soon found that it was as much needed to keep him focused and safe–protected from wandering astray. The only time Coach let him loose was on the dance floor–he ground his way from man to man, hot for all of them, his musk attracting them like flies. They all begged the Coach for the opportunity to fuck his slave, and at a hundred bucks for ass and fifty for head, there was a price everyone could afford. Cory knew this was wrong, knew he had been tricked, but his mind was running so slow–he couldn’t keep up with Coach, he couldn’t keep up with the parade of cocks rammed in his ass and throat. He couldn’t do anything beyond allow himself to be dragged all over town until the bars closed, when a few wealthy patrons joined them back at the apartment for an extended fuck session.

Cory woke around noon, and found the apartment empty–Coach was apparently at the gym already, and had left him to sleep off the night before. The double dose still had him reeling. His mind was shattered, and it took him an hour to pick up the pieces and figure out what was had happened. He stared at himself in the mirror. Was he already hairier? Already more muscular? Probably not, but how long until the pills started working on him like they had on Coach? How long until his mind dissolved, and all he could think about was fucking, sucking and lifting in between? He stank of sweat and musk and cum; he thought about showering, but ended up jacking off instead, his nose snorting in his own aroma. On the table, he found a scrawled note with two pills and a glass of water.

“Good job last night Sport. Got us enugh drug this morning to last a month. a few more nights like last night, and we can start buyin r own equipmnt. And rent a big apartment too. Move you in with me where you belong. Take yor pills n come to the gym. I’m waitin.”

Cory was shaking. He couldn’t take them, but he needed…he needed to feel that again. He needed that energy. He didn’t want to be a whore. He didn’t want to be some dumb, hairy, muscle bound brute. But Coach…but Coach was right…right? He’d done a good job last night. He’d enjoyed himself, even, as much as he hated admitting it. He picked up the pills in his hand, and stared at them for a moment, before swallowing them back with some water. Coach was probably getting impatient, waiting for him–he’d taken too long. By the time he’d sprinted to the gym, the world was a blur. All except for Coach, his Coach, waiting for him in the back. He smiled, and went to work out.

“Sure kid, I can give you a ride home I guess, as long as we’re heading in the same direction. Sure, that little trailer park there? I know the place, in fact, I have a friend who lives there too–one of my workmates. Climb in, and we’ll get going. What’s your name, kid? Ben? Nice to meet you, Ben.”

“Heh, yeah, I guess it does reek a bit, sorry. I still have my gear from the job site back behind the seat–the smell doesn’t bother me anymore. Nothing I can really do about it–I don’t get a chance to wash it very often–laundromat’s all the way in town, and I don’t have a washer at my place. How about you? Where do you work?”

“You don’t have a job? Seriously? How old are you, twenty? twenty-two?”

“Only nineteen eh? Still, your old enough to vote. Old enough to get a bitch pregnant. Old enough to hold down a job. That’s the problem with your generation, you boys don’t know how to work like men. Hell, you probably think you’re too good to work in construction, something where you get sweaty and dirty by the end of the day, something that involved actual work.”

“Heh, college? Seriously? In the fall. Whatever, college is for fuckin’ pussies, I think. Are you a pussy?”

“Hey boy, calm the fuck down already, I’m just yankin’ your chain is all. Still…I didn’t need no college. And a boy should learn how to work is all I’m saying, you know?”

“What do you mean you feel funny? The smell? Well I told you there’s nothing I can do about that. Can’t even roll down the windows–they’re broke. You’ve just probably never smelled a real man like me before, is your problem. Sweat and dirt and grime–fuck! Nothin’ better than a day in the hot sun, working up a sweat. Makes you feel like a real man. Here, yeah, my fuckin’ hard hat. Been wearin’ this thing for years now, smell that! Don’t screw your nose up at me! Fuckin’ smell it, boy!”

“Yeah, that’s it–nice deep breaths now. Get it deep in those lungs of yours. Smells better now, don’t it? Like a man? You still smell like a boy, all fresh ‘n flowery ‘n shit. Fuck. Go on, put it on if you want, I don’t mind.”

“Yeah, I know it smells good. I’m just glad I’m givin’ you a proper education in manhood.”

“Oh…good…oh, you mean good…as in sexy? Well, don’t worry none about that. That’s just natural. Hell, I remember when I was twenty, I was horny all the fuckin’ time. I remember the first time I got a good whiff of a real man–my uncle, fuck, now there was a man. Big gut, huge fuckin’ uncut cock. The fuckin’ cheese he’d get up under there, tasty. You ever tasted cock cheese boy? Nothin’ better–food of the god for real men like me.”

“A faggot? I’m not no faggot you little mouthy fucker! I’m pullin’ the fuck over…Does a faggot smell like this? Yeah, get the fuck over here boy, smell these sweaty pits. No faggot can reek like this, I’ll tell you that. Quit fightin’ boy, yeah, that’s it…smell those pits. Those are real men’s pits. Hold on, let me get this shirt off…yeah, there we go, look at these hairy fuckin’ pits boy, look how soppin’ wet they are. Now lick it. Get that fuckin’ tongue over here and lick boy!”

“Yeah, that’s it. I remember my first taste too. Like a fuckin’ light bulb went off in my head. Couldn’t get enough of my uncle’s sweat. Damn boy, that cock of yours is hard as a rock! Good size too. Let me see here…Oh, what the fuckin’ hell, your parents cut yer fuckin’ skin off! Too fuckin’ bad, but no wonder you’ve never gotten a taste of cheese before. Man, I was eatin’ my own once my uncle taught me how great it tastes. Guess you’ll just have to taste some of mine.”

“I know you’re not a faggot boy, you don’t have to be a fag to appreciate a real man like me. This is your fuckin’ education. Yeah, look at that–got a huge skin on my cock, get your mouth over here, taste this shit, fuckin’ delicious. Yeah, that’s it boy, get your tongue down in there deep, where it belongs. I hear you moanin’ now, see? See how good cheese tastes? That’s the shit a real man makes, you remember that. Now keep suckin’, I gotta get back on the road.”

“Cheese is just the appetizer though, boy. Don’t feel bad ya ain’t got none a your own. What really matters is cum and piss–not every man has a cheesy cock, but I’ve met some men, no skin, but damn was their piss rank! Fuckin’ hot men, every single one of ‘em. Let me give you a taste boy, here it comes, som real fuckin’ man piss for you. Don’t fuckin’ sputter it out! This is a fuckin’ gift of the gods, boy! Do you want to be a real man or not!”

“You don’t know? You don’t fuckin’ know if you want to be a real man like me, or some fuckin’ college pussy boy? Some college faggot? I got something else for you back here, something else for you to smell, something that’ll change your mind. Fuckin’ boots. Yeah, look at these, been wearin’ ‘em for years. In fact, they were my uncles–he gave them to me when I told him I wanted to be a real man like him. And here, I’ve been wearin’ these socks for weeks now, suck the sweat out of those.”

“Yeah, look at you go, boy. Rank, right? Shove that boot over your face, get a good whiff of my feet. Get that cock out of your jeans, I know you wanna jack off, go on, jack off while you drink in my boot stench. This is what real men do. Real men enjoy each other. Real men get off on stench, they drink piss, they fuck, suck and swallow.”

“Fuck yeah! Look at that load you just blew. Damn, and your cock’s still hard. Go on then, keep jacking boy, but tell me again. Tell me you don’t love this. Tell me you don’t want to be a real man…Louder boy, I can’t hear you through that boot over your mouth…Yeah, that’s good, that’s what I want to hear. You’re gonna be a real man just like me, aren’t you?”

“Now, you wanna drink the rest of my piss, or do you wanna be a pussy boy? Yeah, I didn’t think you wanna be a pussy. Get down here, that’s it. I’ll start a bit slower this time…that’s it, that’s real good man, drink it all down. Fuck, like a fuckin’ champ! Now suck my dick man, suck it, I’m gonna blow a load of cum down your fuckin’ throat! Fuck yeah, here it fuckin’ cums!”

“Shit man, that fuckin’–ran me off the road, I should know better than to pick up men like you. Heh, hell yeah you’re a man! Take a fuckin’ look at yourself in the mirror there. Look at that nasty face, look at those dumb fuckin’ eyes. That’s not the face of some pussy who’s goin’ to school. Smell those pits of yours–yeah, see how they reek now? You worked up a fuckin’ man sweat in here. You gonna go home and shower that off? Heh, I didn’t think so. In fact, if you’re unemployed, why don’t you come work for me? I got a few opening on the crew, and all of us are real men like you, you’ll fuckin’ love it, I promise.”

“Now, how about we celebrate man? Go on, piss those fuckin’ jeans of yours, I want this cab to reek of your piss for days. Don’t be shy, I piss myself in here all the fuckin’ time–why do you think it smells so bad? Just relax man, relax and let it loose…yeah, that’s it, look at that stain. Damn, you had a full bladder too, didn’t you? Let me have a fuckin’ taste man, I gotta taste your piss…Oh fuck, this is some of the nastiest piss I’ve ever had! You’d better fuckin’ save this for me at the job site, put it in a fuckin’ thermos for me if you want. Shit man, fuckin’ hot.”

“Come on, we’d better get you home–you start work in the morning. Oh? You don’t want to go home? You want to stay with me? Look, I know parents are a drag, but I already got a couple of men at home to keep happy, and I’m not looking to bring in another. The four of us have a good thing goin’ already…sorry man, maybe…maybe you can come on over and play sometime, but that’s pretty quick.”

“Hey man, don’t look so fuckin’ bummed. Look, how about…how about I take you to Todd’s place? He’s a bit of a loner–fuckin’ loves to jack off more ‘n anyone I’ve ever met, but you might like him. If nothing else, it’s a place to stay for a while until you can get a place of your own, right? Yeah, his pits reek, trust me on that, you’ll like him. He lives in the same park as your parents, let’s turn in here.”

“Yeah, it’s pretty run down, I know. Oh? You like that? Yeah, it does look like a real man lives here, don’t it? Wait here in the truck, I’ll go talk to him.”

“Hey Todd, I got a new friend of mine waiting in the truck, his names Ben. He needs a place to stay for a bit, and I thought…well, I know you like bein’ alone, but here’s the thing, Ben’s new to manhood, and I was thinkin’, well, he’s pretty open minded, you know? Some of that porn you watch, man, that shit’s filthy, but Ben, man, I think he might be open to some of that nasty shit you like so much.”

“Yeah, I know he’s skinny, but then feed him up! He’d look fuckin’ hot if he got as fat as you.”

“Look, if you don’t like him, it’s just for a little while. I’m not tryin’ to set you up with anybody, I just think, you know, you just seem lonely sometimes. I’m just tryin’ to help. Just give him a chance to get out on his own at least, eh?”

“Alright Ben, he’ll let you stay. Yeah, he is fat, isn’t he? Still, I think you might like that–he gets so fuckin’ sweaty man, all those fuckin’ rolls of fat. He’s a filthy fucker, and I know how you like us filthy men. Besides, it’s better than your parent’s right? Now be a good man, and do what he says. He’s letting you stay rent free, so you gotta be amenable, alright? No, nothing in particular, just keep an open mind, and keep him happy, is all. He works with me too, and he’ll give you a ride into work.”

“Oh, no need to thank me man, I’m just helpin’ you out like my uncle helped me…but wait. Before you go, here, I want you to have these, take the hard hat…and take the boots too. No, I want you to have them, they’re yours. Treat them well, like a man, alright? I’m just helpin’ you like my uncle helped me is all. I’ll see you tomorrow? Be good to Todd. He’s a bit rough, but once you two get to know each other, I think you’ll hit it off just fine. I’ll see you in the mornin’ and you better save that fuckin’ piss of yours for me, I fuckin’ mean it. Thanks man, and I’ll see you tomorrow.”

“Hang on, I just gotta take a quick piss,” Nick said to his friend Doug waiting by the truck, smoking a cigarette, heading home from their summer road trip. A biker smoking a cigar watched Nick head into the rest stop bathroom, and followed after him.

At the urinal, Nick felt a hand cup his ass suddenly, a plume of smoke blowing across his face. He looked up, still pissing and saw the biker staring at him. The hand slid up the butt of his jeans and down the back, the biker groping his ass. “Wanna be mine, boy?” the biker asked, leaning in close, “Could make this hole of yours happy as fuck.”

Nick was frozen in place, the man’s hand sliding down his crack, one finger at his hole, “Say it boy, all you have to do is say yes.”

Nick’s breath was quick and shallow, and all he could get out was a stammered, weak “No.”

Still, the biker, chuckling, slid his hand back out, sniffed his hand, and clomped out of the restroom. “Suit yourself. I always get what I want though.”

Alone again, Nick collapsed against the urinal, nearly crying. What in the hell had just happened? A couple of minutes later, Doug popped his head in. “Are you still pissing? Come on, let’s get home before dark.

On the ride home, Nick was silent, and Doug could sense something was wrong, but couldn’t drag it out of him. How could Nick tell him he’d just been molested by an old biker in the middle of his piss? Doug hated faggots—and he didn’t want his friend to think he was a faggot.

Doug dropped him off at his dad’s doublewide and drove off. Nick did his best to forget that anything had even happened, and went inside, told his dad he was tuckered, and went to bed without dinner. Down the block, a motorcycle idled, and the butt of a cigar burned in the dark.

***

It was a couple of days later that Nick came home from hanging out with Doug, and found his dad on the couch, home from work, smoking a pipe. Nick found this odd–his father always preferred to chew, and when Nick asked him about it, his dad didn’t seem quite able to tell him where the pipe had come from, or why he was smoking it. The smoke smelled familiar, and Nick was uneasy all evening until he finally realized it had the same stink as that biker’s from the restroom. Still, it was probably just tobacco from the same brand, right?

His dad was acting strange. He kept…staring at Nick, and not in a normal way. In a…hungry way. When he thought Nick was out of the room, he kept seeing his dad grope himself in his camo pants, but never when Nick was around. His dad broke out the whisky early, and was out on the couch by midnight when Nick went to bed himself. It was several hours later that the door to his room opened, and his dad staggered in, pipe lit, cock hanging out the fly of his pants. He threw the covers off Nick, waking him up, but forced Nick onto his stomach and climbed on top of him. Nick tried to scream, but his father shoved his face into the pillow as he rammed his cock into his hole raw and unlubed. It was quick–four thrusts, and his father exploded in his ass, before collapsing on him, breathing hot smoke and whisky breath onto his son’s neck. Without speaking, he got up and stumbled back to his room.

Nick couldn’t move. At first, he thought he just didn’t want to move, but then he realized, he actually couldn’t move. Another man was in the doorway–the biker, his room full of smoke, but he didn’t say anything. The room was full of smoke now, and Nick realized he must be dreaming. Not all of it was a dream. He woke up, feeling his father’s cum dried down the crack of his ass, but that was normal, right? His dad always liked fucking his hole when he got too drunk. Nick stopped, realizing what he’d just thought. His dad had never done anything like that to him before–so why in the hell had he thought…

The door opened, and it was his dad, morning wood jutting straight out. Nick lipped his lips as his father climbed on him and skullfucked him, blowing his load across his son’s face before getting dressed in his workgear and heading to the construction site. Nick got cleaned up, everything feeling more normal suddenly, and then left and started walking to Doug’s house, when a motorcycle pulled up next to him, the biker smirking at him.

Nick went to run, but the biker grabbed him and pulled him close, one hand twisting Nick’s nipple. “How about now, boy? You’d rather have your hole fucked by your dad, or by me? How about a nice ‘yes’?”

Nick was frozen, but again said no. The biker released him, and drove off, saying once again, “I always get what I want boy!”

***

Nick arrived at Doug’s place, knocked on the door, and was his friend opened it, cigar planted in the corner of his mouth. Nick just stared at him, and asked him where the cigar had come from. Doug told him he always smoked cigars, and pulled him inside. Doug suggested that they take a walk in the woods, but when Nick told him he just wanted to stay in today, Doug instead insisted. His friend had never been so forceful before, and something in Nick…something made him feel compelled to obey.

They hiked out into the woods, and Nick swore that as Doug smoked, something was happening to him. He was getting…bigger. In fact, by the time they reached the river, his friend, who had been an inch or two shorter, was now six inches taller, his body filled out with muscle, and his eyes. His eyes were cruel. They reached the river, and Doug turned to him, “Kids at school–you know, they’re saying your dad’s a faggot.”

“He’s…he’s not a faggot,” Nick said.

“They say he’s a faggot, and they say you’re a faggot too. That you let your dad fuck your ass, that you want him to fuck you.”

“That’s not fucking true!” Nick shouted, but Doug grabbed Nick’s groin in a huge hand and squeezed it until Nick let out a groan.

“Not true? Then I suppose that the thought of your dad’s old cock won’t get you hard eh? I suppose that the thought of him coming in your room doesn’t get you all excited, that you don;t get hard at the thought of sucking his scummy cock? Of taking a load of his in your asshole? I bet you started it. I bet you’re the one who begged him to fuck you, you made your dad into a fucking faggot for your hole.”

Nick was listening, but there, across the river, was the biker. The smoke was flowing over the water like a fog, about to envelop them. He was hard. He was hard, thinking about his dad’s cock, thinking about how he’d gotten his dad drunk and sucked him off that first time, how his dad hadn’t wanted to, but Nick was so fucking horny, he was such a fucking faggot for nasty cock…

“It..it’s true…”

“No shit–I’ve been friends with a faggot this whole fucking time.”

Nick nodded, and was unprepared for Doug’s fist to slam into the side of his face. There was so much smoke, and yet his view of Doug was perfectly clear, the biggest guy at school, he’d wanted his cock forever. He could see the bulge, probably close to nine inches–how would that feel buried in his ass?

“Please…please, I just want…I just want to serve you, please…”

The words were him, but he couldn’t imagine himself saying them.

“Clean my fucking boot, faggot.”

Doug smashed his boot onto Nick’s face, and he licked at the dusty tread, anything for his friend’s cock, anything, he was just a worthless faggot for cock. He licked both boots clean, and only then did Doug reward him, shoving his giant cock deep into his hole, making Nick scream, but it felt so fucking good. Doug came in his ass and tromped off into the forest, telling him he never wanted to see the faggot again, and Nick looked down between his legs, and saw that he’d shot his own load on the dirt trail.

The smoke had cleared. He stood up, and started out of the woods, pleased with himself. Sure, Doug would tell everyone at school he was a stupid faggot, but he’d finally got that massive cock in him. It was worth it. Besides, he was just a worthless faggot, after all, right?

Waiting for him at the head of the trail, he found the biker, cigar burning. Nick approached him, hesitantly, felt the leather jacket–it was too cold compared to the summer air. “What do you say now, boy? You want to be mine? Be my little cubby faggot?”

Nick reached down and felt the biker’s cock through his jeans. Big, but not as big as Doug’s. And he liked his dad. He liked getting fucked by him. And maybe…maybe more guys at school would want to fuck him now. And he knew Doug would want to fuck him again, sometime. No one could resist his faggot ass. “No, no, I don’t think so,” Nick said, and walked on. The biker looking at him as he left, a bit perturbed, but he got on his bike and drove off.

***

Nick found his dad’s truck in the driveway when he got home, and was excited for an afternoon fuck. He went inside, but the father on the couch was not the one who had left home that morning. The pipe…it was much bigger now, as was his father. Sometime during the day, he’d packed on close to three hundred pounds, and now, heaps of blubber cascaded off of him. Nick could smell him from across the room, the stench of cum and sweat and…piss? He stood in the doorway, not noticing the tendril of smoke curling in from the kitchen.

“What the fuck are you waiting for, faggot? Get over here and suck daddy’s cock.”

Nick wanted to ask what had happened, he wanted to resist. He didn’t want to serve this fat, disgusting man, but the smoke curled around his feet and drew him closer. He knelt down, feeling the smoke wrap around his body, dissolving his clothes, leaving him naked aside from a set of manacles on his wrists and feet, chained together so he couldn’t walk upright, only crawl. He shoved his face under his father’s apron, searching until he found his short, three inch cock, and started sucking. He hated his father’s cock–mostly because it meant on fuck was satisfying, and his father said his slave’s ass was reserved for him alone. Most fucks were just his father grunting and grinding his tiny cock up Nick’s ass crack until he came–it was miserable. It was difficult breathing as he sucked, but he’d learned some tricks in his years of service, ever since his father had enslaved him. It took some work, but he managed to suck out a load of cum, but he remained, waiting for…something. He didn’t remember until his father released a load of piss for him to swallow; only after could Nick extract himself.

“Footrest,” his father said.

Nick crawled over dutifully and allowed his father to set his booted feet on his hunched back. He remained perfectly still for hours, eventually cramping in his tight position, but he didn’t dare move. Eventually, he heard the grumble of a truck outside; it was Doug’s. What would his friend think if he saw him like this?

That thought struck him as strange. Doug was no longer his friend….Doug was….something else to him.

“Sounds like your trainer’s here,” his dad said, and removed his feet, allowing Nick to uncurl slightly. “Gonna work on your pain tolerance tonight, he said. I do love hearin’ my bitch scream, so be good and loud tonight.”

Doug tromped up and let himself in–now even larger, his body packed with hair and muscle, wearing leather pants and a vest, tattoos covering his body. “Into the dungeon, slave.”

Nick crawled after Doug into the room which had been his, but which now contained a large selection of dungeon gear. He was paddled and whipped until he bled and sobbed. His balls and nipples were stretched, Doug telling him how, soon, his father might let Doug castrate him, and replace his balls with a couple of heavy, iron eggs instead. Doug taunted him with his ten inch cock, telling him he’d never let a slave as worthless as Nick serve it. How Doug would only be serviced by real men, not faggots like Nick.

The room was filled with a haze of smoke, and in the doorway, the biker.  Nick pleaded with him silently, begging him to be merciful. The biker simply regarded the scene in silence, until Doug finished training and left, leaving Nick restrained on the table, balls stretched out to the wall, nipples dragged up to the ceiling. Only then, did the biker approach.

“I think…I think I will only ask one more time. Would you rather this be your life? A worthless, castrated pig for your father and his sadistic friend’s twisted pleasures? Or would you rather be my cub? What do you say boy, can I have a yes?”

Nick nodded.

“I need to hear you say it.”

“Y–yes. Yes, please.”

***

Nick blinked, and when he opened them again, he was back in the rest area bathroom. But now…now things were different. His master leaned over, watching his leather biker cub piss in the urinal.

“I like the look of that PA, cub. Makes you even sexier than you already are.”

“Thank you sir,” Nick said, looking down at the thick ring in the head of his cock, the piss spraying out around it, some of it splattering against the leg of his leather chaps. He took a drag off his cigar–and shared the smoke with his master as he shook piss off the head, and then the biker grabbed his boy by the thick chain collar he wore, dragged him into the stall, and fucked his hole.

Outside, Doug finished his smoke, and felt like he was forgetting something. With a shrug, he climbed back into his truck and started home, but saw a biker and some disgusting fag leave the restroom together. He rolled down the window and shouted, “Faggots!” as he rolled past.

The biker smirked, “Nice friend of yours.”

Nick looked over at him, confused, “I don’t know him, sir.”

“Well, what do you say we follow him, and when he stops next, we turn him into a nasty trucker, who cruises for piss as truck stops?”

“Only if I can make him four hundred pounds with a tiny cock and a hungry hole I can fuck,” Nick said smiling, and they climbed on their bikes, smoke trailing behind them as they drove off down the highway after Doug.

Happy Labor Day

Why work? That was the question Jack had asked himself one day, and he’d realized that he didn’t have a good answer. And so, he decided to just not work. Well, he had been working in one fashion–figuring out every way he could to get money from the government. Hell, he’d even pretended to have a pregnant girlfriend to pick up an extra 200 a month. For years now, he’d been living alone in the old single wide his uncle had died in, where Jack had just started squatting while the rest of the family didn’t actually care. He’d even kept collecting his uncle’s social security–since no one had bothered to let the government know he was dead. It wasn’t a comfortable life, but he didn’t have to work. He could set his own schedule, drink beer, smoke, and watch TV, which is everything that made him happy anyway. Still, he always figured that one day people would catch on–it just didn’t quite lead to the result he was expecting.

One day, instead of his usual check from welfare, he received a large package on the doorstep. Inside, he found a letter:

Congratulations! You have been selected as a candidate for our new Eager-to-Work! Program. This pilot program is tailored to those members of the long-term unemployed who have shown a reluctance to find work for themselves. As part of this program, you have already been accepted to work at a local small business in need of labor. Inside this package, you will find your uniform for your new job…

The rest of the letter had information about where he would be working, and said he would be starting the following Monday after the weekend. Of course, he had absolutely no intention of starting any kind of job. Besides, he was “disabled” anyway. Couldn’t these organizations figure their shit out for once? He got on the phone with the welfare office, but the woman he spoke to, while very congenial and apologetic, informed him that for as long as he was a member of this pilot program, he would be ineligible for other forms of public assistance. Furious, he hung up, and decided that he just wouldn’t go at all. No one was going to make him work, especially not after this long. He went to throw out the package, but decided to take a look at what the office had sent him for a “uniform.” Nothing in there was at all clean, and along with a set of grubby red coveralls, there were even socks, some boots, and even a grey stinking jockstrap. Really stinking, actually. He put the jock to his nose and took a deep breath of the fabric, smelling the sweat imbedded in it.

He stripped off his boxers and pulled the jock on instead. After a moment’s hesitation, he went and pulled on the rest of the gear as well, and when he was done, the grungy, sweaty smell had his cock rock hard in the jock, and he couldn’t stop himself from jacking off. In fact, that was all he could do all weekend long. He never once removed any part of the uniform, even sleeping with the boots on. As the weekend passed, he found himself imagining all sorts of new fantasies. How he could be working for eight hours, come home all sweaty, smelling absolutely disgusting. Fuck, it would be amazing. He still remembered his sworn promise to never work another day in his life, but for the first time he actually found himself regretting it, and wondering if he’d made the right choice. The idea that he might actually enjoy working scared him–and on Sunday he took off the uniform, but before he could throw it away, he felt something strange happening to his body. In the mirror, he noticed that his hair was suddenly starting to recede and turn grey, his goatee turning grey as well, as his body softened and began fattening up. In a panic, he threw the uniform back on, which halted the aging, but back in the stinking sweat, he found he actually kind of liked how he looked. Older, a bit weathered–like a man who’d spent his life working rough, sweaty jobs.

He was back on his bed then, jacking off, smelling his pits, wishing they were even nastier. Hopefully the job would be one where he could work up a good sweat every day–then he could spend his whole weekend smelling himself and jacking off, before doing it all over the next week. He shot his load up onto his stomach and rubbed it in there, feeling a bit of clarity well up in him. This was insane. This couldn’t possibly be legal, but he knew that if he kept this up, he would definitely be going to work tomorrow. Then, he realized that he still didn’t know where he was even going to be working! Sensing an opportunity, he rummaged around in the clutter until he found the sheet from Eager-to-Work! and burnt it to ashes with his lighter before he could see his new place of employment.

That Monday, he soon realized that there were other good reasons for him to go to work. All day, he had so much energy he was practically bouncing off the walls, but the one thing that wouldn’t cooperate was his cock. It was completely soft, and wouldn’t get hard for anything, even as he grew increasingly horny. Tuesday was even worse, but he refused to give in and call the unemployment office to get the information from them. It was Wednesday that a new package arrived, unbidden, along with another letter:

Due to your continued attempts at unemployment, you have been selected for Eager-to-Work!’s mentorship program! Included in the package are some things that will help you get to know your mentor a little better, before he arrives for your first meeting Wednesday afternoon at 4 pm at the following location.

All that was in the package, however, was another pair of boots and a jockstrap. But these…as soon as he smelled them, he knew that they weren’t his. and yet…he picked up the jock, and he could smell the cum soaked into it, and his cock was hard again, and he was jacking off, unable to even help himself. Then, he started smelling the boots, and he nearly retched, but he could handle it, he could take it all in. The feet that were in those boots, fuck! They must be huge, and stinking, and he could just image them smashed against his face, against his cock, shoved in his mouth sucking on their toes. He came three times on the floor by the door, the jock stuffed in a boot covering his nose and mouth, while he shot multiple loads across the other boot’s toe and laces, which he then licked off, tasting the dirt and grime of work. Yes, this was a man who worked! This was a man who worked like he could work, if he could just stop being such a lazy dumbass! He had to meet this man, he had to, he could help him be a good worker.

The clock moved so slowly, but finally it was time to leave. He drove to a small house not too far from the trailer park where he lived, and he found the garage door open, a squat man sitting in the back of his pickup. “You must be Jack,” he said, “Come on in here–I’m gonna be your mentor.”

Jack couldn’t get into the garage fast enough, the door closing down behind him as he hopped up into the bed of the truck, and found himself face to face with his mentor’s huge feet. He started slobbering all over them, wildly jerking his cock, and listened to everything his mentor had to say about the thrill of work, about how hot it was getting dirty and grungy with other men, smelling them on the worksite, begging them to let him lick them clean and suck their cocks and massage their feet. Jack promised his mentor that he would go to work tomorrow like a good man, and once the mentor was satisfied that Jack was telling the truth, he finally let Jack suck the cum from this thick cock, before sending him on his way.

Jack discovered that he was going to be working for a construction company, and it was everything he could have hoped it would be. Sweaty, hard work with a bunch of other men who had been selected for the Eager-to-Work! program like him. It was hard containing themselves for eight hours of hard work, but it was all worth it after closing time, when Jack and the rest of his co-workers would all stick around and fuck each other’s lights out for several hours. Jack would still have doubts on occasion, but at his bi-weekly fuck sessions with his mentor, there was nothing he couldn’t get past. Soon, he was just another happy worker, wearing his stinking coveralls day and night, eight hours of work, eight hours of rest, and eight hours of fucking.

I can hear him in his room, jacking off again. I don’t really want to get involved–I mean, what father wants to talk to his son about masturbation? But it seems like it’s all he’s been doing lately, and I think he’s stopped showering too. It’s so strange. I mean, he’s going through a rebellious phase, sure. There’s that tattoo he got with his friends a few months ago, but he’s just a senior eager to get out from under his parents. I was the same way, after all. Still, how can I not worry about him? Besides, he’s so loud, I’m worried the neighbors might hear, especially the freak next door. In fact, Ben’s room shares a wall with him, doesn’t it?

***

Ben had his hand down in his filthy jockstrap that he hadn’t changed for a week, and through the wall, he could hear his perverse neighbor whispering through the small hole he’d drilled through the wall, the one Ben had covered up with his dresser to make sure his dad didn’t find it.

“You smell good jock pig, fuck yeah. You like how you reek, don’t you?”

“F–Fuck…”

Ben shot his load up onto his stomach and rubbed it in there, groaning loudly. He hoped that his dad hadn’t heard him, but he couldn’t stop from making these humiliating groans any longer, licking the rest of his tacky cum off his fingers.

“Got something for you piggy, come on piggy, I know you want it.”

Ben got up and shoved the dresser to one side, and the pervert’s crusty, uncut cock popped through the hole. Ben was on his knees with it down his throat as fast as he could move. Piss came first, faster than he could swallow, and it ran down the front of him, where he rubbed it into his skin, grunting, his cock hard again already, the old man’s cock growing hard, and he sucked until he got a reward of sour old cum, and then he pushed the dresser back and tried to keep from smelling his filthy pits and getting started all over again.

***

I’m getting really worried now–it’s only getting worse, and now he’s gone most of the day too. I’ve been getting calls that he’s missing school, but he doesn’t listen to me anymore. In fact, it seems like he doesn’t listen to anything I have to say, like he’s a zombie when he’s here. In his room, he jacks off and snorts and grunts, and then he leaves and doesn’t come back for hours. I don’t want to invade his privacy, but I have to find out what’s going on–just a quick investigation while he’s gone won’t hurt, right?

I don’t find anything, but what the hell is that pervy neighbor doing next door? It sounds like he’s fucking someone, but who in the hell would have sex with someone as nasty as him? I don’t feel real good all of a sudden though…there’s this…smell in here, but what…what is it?

Dirty laundry everywhere…it smells…fuck. So fucking sweaty, damn…and kind of like cum. A bit stiff…too, makes me want to gag, but it smells kind of good. What the fuck am I even thinking, and why am I hard? This is ridiculous. Can’t stop though, smells so fucking good…fuck yeah, oh fuck just one quick jack, that’s all.

***

“Who’s my nasty jock pig?”

“Me sir,” Ben moaned, his filthy neighbor’s cock buried deep in his filthy ass.

“Who’s my piss drinking, ass licking piggy?”

“Oh fuck, me sir!”

“That’s fuckin’ right!” he spanked Ben’s ass, the jock groaning and unloading a fifth load from his balls into the grungy carpet beneath him. The pig had no control anymore–one sniff of his filthy master’s pits was enough to have him cumming sometimes.

The perv was speeding up now, getting close himself. He unloaded into his pig’s loose hole, and then pulled out, watching his cum dribble down Ben’s crusty ass crack. “Fuckin’ sexy pig.”

“Thank you sir.”

“Now get going–I’m done for now.”

Ben stood up and left his master’s apartment, slipping back into his father’s apartment next door, returning to his room, one hand wiping his master’s cum out of his crack and licking it up, when he saw his father naked on his bed, surrounded by his filthy laundry, his cum rag shirt pressed against his nose as he jacked off, body sweaty.

Ben went to the hole in the wall, “Master, my father’s pigging out sir, what should I do?”

“Oh really? How about you feed him my cum from your nasty hole, pig?”

“Oh fuck sir, I’d love to do that…” Ben got up on the bed and squatted over his father’s face, and unable to stop himself, his father ate the pervert’s filthy cum from his son’s hole. Unable to fathom what was happening, but unable to stop for the life of him.

***

Oh fuck, look at them go! My pig son’s so fuckin’ hot, especially now that he’s working out almost constantly. Fuckin’ ripped, and master just reams his ass with that fist of his. Wish it wasn’t so hard to jack my cock, but I’m just a fat pig, gotta keep eating, so fuckin’ hungry. Master wants me at least 400 pounds here soon, and I’m gettin’ so close. So fuckin’ nasty, fuck.

Gotta piss, yeah, pissin’ my son’s nasty jockstrap. Smells so good, I’ll suck it out of the carpet later, I don’t wanna miss this. Love watching master fist my pig son, almost as much as I love feeling his fist up my fat ass, maybe Ben will fist me when he comes home, fuck that’d be hot.

Master says he’s gonna start training me to be a proper toilet pig soon, gonna have me eating my son’s filthy shit before too long. Can’t fucking wait to be honest, I already love having my tongue buried up filthy shit chutes, tastes so fucking good. I’m gonna be such a good toilet for master and my pig son, fuck yeah. Where’s my fuckin’ dildo? Wanna cum, gettin’ fuckin’ close, gotta get fucked to cum though, such a fuckin’ pig. Yeah, that’s it, nine inches stuffed up in me, fuck! Fuck I’m fuckin’ cumming, such a nasty fuckin’ pig, fuck, fuckin’ love being a pig, love my master, I love my fuckin’ pig son so fuckin’ much, fuck yeah…

Renovations (Part 1)

– May –

Carl had always intended to do the renovations himself–after all, he’d bought the small house in part because it was a bit run-down, which also meant he’d gotten it for a comparable steal in the current buyer’s market, but two summers had already gone by and work had simply been too busy for him to ever devote much time to his plans. It wasn’t like the place was falling apart or anything, he would tell himself. The roof didn’t leak, all of his appliances functioned well enough. The inside and outside could use a fresh coat of paint and some better carpet, and the kitchen and bathrooms desperately needed remodeling, but at some point practicality had overwhelmed his ambition, and so he’d settled in, happy enough, figuring he would get around to it at some point.

It wasn’t that Carl was incapable of doing the work–in fact, he’d often helped his father with home remodelling projects when he was teenager, and still trying to prove to himself that he might be straight, which was funny, now that he thought back on it. Still, in his late twenties and with a firm, gym toned body, he actually enjoyed the idea of working on something like this instead of sitting in front of the computer all day long, like he’d been doing lately. Carl worked from home as a website developer. Running his own business could be stressful at times, but he was currently riding a pretty high wave which had given him the first chance to save some money in the last few years, and he really enjoyed working with his current batch of clients. Still, even though it was only May, he could tell it was going to be a beautiful summer, and the perfect opportunity to get some work on the house done. Unfortunately, his work was so successful that it was taking up most of his time, and it was beginning to look like he wasn’t going to be able to do the renovations himself. Still, the problems which had at first seemed charming were slowly developing into more of an eyesore, and it was that which provoked Carl to relent and hire a handyman to come and do some work on the house for him this summer, since it probably wouldn’t get done otherwise.

He certainly did his research when it came to contractors–he got recommendations from friends and work associates, he trolled review sites, he called around looking for reputable, hard working, drug free employees…and so when he ended up hiring Bud Johnson to do the work, he kind of surprised himself. He’d found one solid reference to Bud’s work online, and called him for a consultation on a bit of whim, and when Bud had shown up at the door, it wasn’t the kind of guy he’d expected. He was a bit shorter than Carl, but the way he stuck out his chest and with his fat gut stretching his muscle shirt taut, he gave off a certain sense of bluster and bullying that caught Carl off guard. Chuffing on a cigar that Carl kept forgetting to ask him to extinguish and smelling of stale beer, Bud wormed his way into the house with a warm handshake and a conversation that Carl just couldn’t seem to control. Bud talked a bit too fast, and by the time Carl had his thoughts formulated on one topic enough to respond, Bud had already assumed Carl’s agreement and moved onto the next.

“What do ya think of this color outside, pretty grim, eh? Good thing ya called me–no reason tah be the saddest house on the block, eh? How ‘bout Red? I’m thinkin’ red.”

“You know what this kitchen could use? Stone floors. I put some stone floors in the last house I worked on, and the owners loved it. I bet you would to! Sounds like a plan tah me.”

“This might be more than you were thinkin’ out here, but what about an awning for the patio? It would make it a great party spot–pop open a few brews, have a smoke with the buds, eh man?”

Still, for all of his pushy conversation, and the smoking, which started off as annoying and grew infuriating as Bud ignored Carl’s attempts to get him to put it out, he seemed knowledgeable and ambitious. In addition, it was just Bud working by himself, and he owned his own business, which Carl could more than respect, since he worked alone as well. By the end of the consultation, Carl had already agreed to hire Bud–but decided to limit him to working on the exterior paint for now, and if that went well, they’d see what they could do about the rest of his ideas. Still, Carl couldn’t help but be a bit concerned, and couldn’t shake the sense that he’d been logrolled some how. Still, he shrugged his shoulders and set up a few fans to try and clear the smoke out of the air in the house, and figured that if things went bad, he could always just fire him.

However, the first few days of the project had gone well enough–Bud had shown up on time and worked hard, and despite Carl’s reluctance, had followed through with his original plan, and started painting the outside of the house a deep red. It wasn’t as horrible as Carl had been expecting at least, and with the smoking outside and his work inside, things mostly proceeded as normal, until the next week, when the first hot day of late Spring arrived. Carl’s office on the south side of the house was baking, and so he opened the window to let in the slight breeze that was blowing and went back to his work when he caught a whiff of Bud’s cigar on the air. It certainly wasn’t the first time he’d smelled his smoke, and he wasn’t quite sure what about it had caught his attention, but as soon as he smelled it this time, he zoned out, focusing on that scent for a few minutes, almost understanding the appeal, the sweetness underneath the acridity, and when he shook his head to refocus after a minute, he realized he had a hardon in his khakis.

Carl hadn’t bothered to tell Bud that he was gay–hell, he hadn’t even had a chance to tell him much of anything about himself–not that he figured it would matter much. He’d had a few relationships off and on over the years, but he’d always preferred his own company, and liked being independent more than being in a relationship. Still, Bud was hardly his type–Carl preferred the more standard sort of “handsome”, but as he smelled that cigar, he couldn’t deny that he was suddenly very, very horny. He peeked out over the edge of the window sill, and saw that Bud was working shirtless, applying primer to the wall underneath the window, smoking as usual, and Carl figured he would have some time to himself to jack off, and so he minimized the webpage he was designing and pulled up some porn that he put on mute, lest something noisy alert Bud under the window.

However, the cigar smoke kept wafting in, and Carl found himself quickly losing interest in the video, and for reasons he couldn’t quite explain, he found himself fantasizing about Bud. Sure, the guy was fat, which was kind of disgusting, and there was the smoking, and the fact that he always seemed to smell like beer and body odor, and the tattoos…Carl heard himself let out a little moan, and he thought back to the larger than average bulge he’d noticed in Bud’s slightly too tight jean cut offs he’d been wearing in the heat. He imagined Bud taking off the shorts, and they were both sweaty in the heat, and the cigar smoke was getting stronger as they kissed…

“F–Fuck, Bud…” Carl moaned as he stroked his cock.

“Yes?” the reply came, and Carl thought it was just his fantasy for a moment, the cigar smoke suddenly more present, and then he opened his eyes and saw Carl right outside the window, smirking at him. He must have moved the ladder next to the window without Carl noticing, and he was framed in it, his jean shorts unbuttoned and fly down, a semi-hard shaft hanging out of his boxers, and he was stroking it, and Carl let out a shout, and fell out of his chair, trying to cover himself.

“Didn’t mean to scare ya,” Bud said, climbing into Carl’s office through the window, “But I heard you muttering and slapping from in the yard. Didn’t think a prissy white collar guy like you would be interested in blue-collar me though.”

“No, I’m not–” Carl said, “Look, can you get out please?”

Bud just walked over to where Carl was sitting on the floor and knelt down, wrapping one hand around his cock, making him shiver and start sweating in the heat. His hands were so rough–and this close the smell of the cigar and his sweat was almost overpowering, and when Bud set the cigar aside and leaned in to kiss him, he didn’t try to resist, and he wrapped his own hand around the contractor’s cock and started stroking in, feeling it’s length and heft, the thick PA through the head, and in a matter of moments Bud had Carl cumming all over his loose summer clothes, and Bud shot his load too with a grunt, and then pulled Carl close, pulling him up against his hot body, the scruff of his stubble as strange as the callused hand reaching up under his shirt to feel Carl’s slim, young body.

Still, as soon as it had started, it was over, and Bud was standing up again, buttoning his shorts back up, leaving Carl on the floor covered with both of their loads. “Dang, guess I really lucked out with this job, eh?” Bud said, “You need anymore help with that sort of thing, be sure to let me know.” He climbed back out onto the ladder through the window and went back to work, leaving Carl to try and figure out what exactly had happened. The entire encounter hadn’t lasted more than two minutes, and after stripping down and throwing his clothes into the laundry and taking a shower, the entire encounter had started to feel more like a realistic fantasy than something that had actually happened between them. He tried to go back to work, but the heat of the day was such that he couldn’t recover his focus, and the breeze hadn’t been enough to chase away the lingering smell of smoke and cum from his office, and before he could really help himself, he was jacking off again, imagining the scenario again, but imagining what could have happened next, if Bud had pulled off his shirt and started tweaking his nipples, and then started licking his cock, before swallowing it to the hilt…

With a spasm, Carl shot another load, into some tissues this time, but he was still horny. He couldn’t work like this, he just couldn’t. He decided then and there that he would have to fire Bud–he’d have to finish the exterior painting himself probably, or hire someone else, but it was obvious that they had compromised their working relationship, and so he waited until five, when Bud tended to wrap up for the day, and he put on some clean clothes and confronted him in the front yard as he was packing up his tools.

“Hey!” Bud said, seeing Carl come out of the house, “I was just gonna go look for ya. There’s a game on tonight, and I was gonna suggest we get some beers and maybe watch it together, if you know what I mean,” he said, smiling at Carl’s crotch.

“Look, Bud, I can’t do this, ok? I’m sorry, but I’m going to have to fire you.”

Bud was a bit taken aback, and it kind of surprised Carl to see the shock on his face, and it made him feel kind of bad.

“Wait, seriously? But it was your fault man, I didn’t do anything you didn’t want.”

“That’s not really the problem, I just can’t–”

“Look, we don’t have to do anything ever again, I can control myself. But I really need this job, I don’t really have anything else lined up. I had to cancel on two other possible contracts to take yours man, you’re leaving me in a total lurch.”

“I know, and I’m sorry–”

“Look, can’t we just talk about this?” Bud said, stepping a bit closer, close enough that Carl got another whiff of his cigar, that same smell from before, and he felt his cock try to rise up, but he pushed his arousal back. What in the world was the matter with him? This had never been an issue before. Bud wasn’t even his type!

“I–Look, you’re doing good work, I can’t complain. But I have to get work done, and if you keep trying to fuck me–”

“Excuse me, Carl, but you’re the one who seemed pretty interested in fucking me up there in your office.”

“You just invited yourself into my home!” Carl shouted at him, and Bud looked surprisingly hurt.

“Look, I stepped over a line, alright? I’m sorry. Look, at least let me finish the paint job. It’ll only be a few more days, and there won’t be any more funny business I promise. That’ll give me a chance to line something else up, alright?”

Carl couldn’t really bring himself to say no to that, and so he relented, they shook on it, and he headed back inside after Bud drove off. Still, it took longer than a few days for Bud to finish the exterior painting, and every day the heat seemed to be getting worse. Carl would usually manage to get some work done in the morning, but as the heat ramped up, and he opened the windows of the house, and he’d get that first whiff of Bud’s cigar…well, he’d just lose it. He would spend the rest of the day jacking off, developing more and more intense fantasies about the two of them, and the heat would just become more and more unbearable until Bud would pack up his stuff and drive off, leaving Carl alone.

He’d never realized just how alone he was, actually. He didn’t have many friends, aside from a few old ex’s from college that he kept contact with online, but none of them were local. There was no one he could really talk to about this at all, and so he would sit alone in the warm evenings, usually naked and trying to keep cool, too horny to stop thinking about Bud, but almost too hot to be horny, and it was just beginning to drive him nuts. And so, after three days of their uneasy truce, on a Friday, and unable to really face the entire weekend by himself, Carl went out in the afternoon to the supermarket and bought some beer, and when Bud was cleaning up for the day, he took a deep breath and walked over to him while he was loading his truck.

“Hey, I got some beer today, would you like to hang out this evening and watch the game with me?” he asked. His voice sounded so silly to him all of a sudden , almost childish and needy, and he nearly ran back into the house, ashamed of himself. Bud just stared at him, before the corner of his stubbly mouth lifted up.

“What game? There’s nothing on today.”

Carl blushed, and he turned around and hurried back into the house, sweaty and hot and horny and alone and embarrassed, when he heard a knock on the door behind him, and Bud let himself into the house.

He didn’t know who went for it first. It ended up not mattering to him in the least. Bud was still shirtless and covered in sweat, and the smell of him was so powerful that it made Carl’s head spin, but while the scent of musk and stale beer had seemed so disgusting to him when they’d first met, now it was nearly an aphrodisiac, and when Bud lifted up his arm, revealing a armpit thick with hair, Carl was happy to smash his face into the crevice and lick the sweat from the hair there, while Bud rubbed the leaking cock through Carl’s khakis.

They didn’t speak the entire time, and while in his fantasies Carl had always imagined himself on top–in fact, in all of his previous relationships he had always seemed to be the one to take change in the bedroom–whenever he tried to move Bud into a position where he might suck on Carl’s cock, or reveal his ass so Carl could fuck him, he would resist and push back, so that Carl eventually ended up on the floor, his back against the side of his couch, and Bud was standing, feet spread wide, and then he grabbed Carl’s hair in one hand and pushed the head of his cock against the young man’s lips.

Carl wasn’t entirely sure what to do in this position, he had never encountered someone this forceful, and while he’d imagined it would turn him off, it was quite the opposite–the fact that Bud had him right where he wanted him–right where, it seemed, they both wanted him–made him open his mouth and moan as Bud slid his hard cock into Carl’s mouth and right down his throat, where Carl almost immediately gagged.

“Come on man, relax and take it deep,” Bud said, and tried again. Carl did his best, but he could tell that he wasn’t doing very good. In fact, the next minute simply grew more and more awkward as Bud tried to skullfuck Carl, but while he was willing to try, his body didn’t seem to do what Bud wanted it to do, and in frustration more than anything else, Bud stepped back from Carl, who wiped a stream of precum off his lips and did his best to look apologetic, and was uncertain whether he should apologize or not.

“You know what I need? I need a beer and a smoke–you want one?” Bud asked, and naked, walked into Carl’s kitchen and looked in the fridge, found the beer and brought two out. Carl had stood up, still clothed, and barely caught the can Bud lobbed to him from across the room, and then Bud walked back to his shorts, pulled out a cigar and lit it for himself, and then turned back to Carl, who was still standing there, uncertain about what was happening, and asked, “Do you want one or not?”

“Want what?”

“A cigar, man–a cigar. You need to loosen up a bit, you know what I mean? You’re too damn tense to be a proper fuck.”

Carl just shook his head while Carl lit his cigar and took a few puffs to get it burning. “Look, maybe…I think this was a mistake, maybe you should go.”

Bud ignored him, and put the lit cigar an inch from Carl’s mouth. “Here, take a puff and tell me what you think.”

Carl just looked at him, and then he wrapped his lips around the cigar and took a small breath of the smoke.

“Now you’re gonna wanna cough, but don’t. Don’t inhale it too far either, you can’t do that when ya start. Just hold it for a second–just hold it and taste it,” Bud said, and then leaned in and kissed Carl, pulling the smoke from him as he did, and Carl leaned into him as they kissed. Without breaking their kiss, Carl led him around the arm of the sofa and sat them both down, where they cracked open their beers and started drinking, sharing the cigar, Bud taking his time to help Carl smoke it, and then he wrapped one hand around the back of Carl’s head and guided him back down onto his cock, walking him through it, helping him take more and more of his cock down his throat, while he smoked and drank, finishing his beer before reaching over, grabbing Carl’s and finishing that one too.

“That’s it boy, just take as much as you can, and relax–open up the throat, that’s it, yeah…”

“Feels good, but no teeth! No teeth man, what the fuck are you doing down there?”

“Hold it, come on, hold it down there, you can do it, don’t you fucking gag you piece of shit, don’t fucking do it!”

Carl wasn’t sure how to feel about this, but his cock was rock hard the entire time, and after a few minutes of taking Bud’s sizable cock as deep as he could, Bud grabbed him by the hair again and started fucking him up and down on the shaft, not caring whether Carl had a chance to breathe or not, or whether he gagged or even threw up, and after half a minute he shot a load down Carl’s throat, so deep that he didn’t really have a choice but to swallow all of it. Bud relaxed after a moment, but held Carl there for a moment, before releasing him with a sigh.

“Aww fuck yeah man, that was real nice,” Bud said, and stood up, grabbing his shorts and pulling them on.

“Wait, are you going? But–”

“Yeah, gotta get started early tomorrow, you know?” Bud said, winking at him, “Might try to finish up early or somethin’. Have a good night, Carl.”

Carl only had time to stand up, his cock erect and hanging out of his pants, as he saw Bud run down to his truck, hop in and drive off. “But what about…” he said, and then sighed and rolled his eyes. “Figures,” he said to himself, looked down, and saw that in his haste, Bud had left behind both the half smoked cigar, and his boxers which he’d discarded next to the couch.

Carl bent down and picked them up–they were damp with sweat, and stank, but they stank like Bud, and after a look over his shoulder, almost as if he was worried someone might see, he pressed the fabric to his face and took a deep whiff from it, his cock drooling a stream of precum as he moaned out loud. He sat down on the couch, and with one hand on his cock, alternated between sniffing, biting and sucking at his contractor’s underwear, and finishing the cigar they’d started together, finally shooting a load of his own just before the butt became too small to smoke.

He shivered in the heat and dropped the boxers back on the ground, before emptying the small bowl they had been using as an ashtray from the coffee table. On his way back from the kitchen, he grabbed a beer, thought for a moment, grabbed two, and went back into the living room and turned on the TV. Twice more, as he drank, he masturbated with Bud’s boxers against his face, imagining him skull fucking him with his big cock, or…or fucking him up the ass. No one had ever fucked him before, but suddenly, it was all he really wanted, but did he really want to lose his cherry to Bud? With a shake of his head, he realized he did, and he got up and had another two beers. He fell asleep there on the couch, the boxers draped across his face, and when Bud arrived the next morning, early like he’d said, and hours before Carl eventually woke up, he looked in at the scene through the front window and smiled.

Sneak Peek: Justin and Tim

I’m working on an extended version of “Justin and Huck’s Long Summer.” Here’s a rough draft of a new section

***

It occurred to Justin, sometime in mid-august, that their father had been coming and going in from the house, to work and home again, somehow completely unaware of what Huck was doing to him. Somehow, he always managed to make himself scarce when Huck appeared to tempt him, and so, in an effort to shield himself, in the childish hope that his father could somehow save him from this unending humiliation at the hands of his brother, he made a point of trying to stay near him whenever he was home–something his father seemed to resist and resent.

He soon discovered that his father had his own routine–mainly getting drunk on the couch every afternoon, watching whatever sport happened to be on ESPN, growing his gut. He cringed every time Justin called him dad. In fact, he seemed completely uninterested in the role. Finally, one afternoon when he tried to engage his dad in the hopes of avoiding Huck, his father, six beers drunk, turned to him and said, “You don’t fucking remember me at all, do you? Who I was? Fuck Justin, what the fuck did he do to you?”

Justin just stared at him, unable to make any sense of what he said.

“We were fucking friends for fucking years, man! I fucking disappear, and no one does fucking anything? Fuck–shit’s fucked.”

Justin racked his brain. His last year of high school seemed so far away now, but he could remember someone…someone named Tim. He’d gone missing in March, or something, but no one…no one had done anything about it. But what did that have to do with anything?

“Dad, what are you telling him?” Huck said. He’d slipped into the living room while they were talking, “You know the rules, dad.”

Their father gulped down his beer, and let off a loud belch. “Fuck you Huck, I’m…I’m your fucking father–you fucking made me this fucking piece of shit, so the least you could do is give me a little fuckin’ respect, boy!”

Huck slipped past Justin, and watched his brother run his hand through the stubble of their father’s round chin, before sliding one finger into his mouth. “I wanted it to be a surprise for later, you know.”

It hit Justin immediately, like a his brain suddenly shifted and revealed an entire section of his memory that had been hidden away deep within him. How his best friend Tim had started acting strange in the fall, and then simply disappeared in the middle of the spring of their senior year. He could remember all of this happening, but he couldn’t remember anyone doing anything about it. It was like he’d just fallen from the earth and their minds all at once–there one day, and gobe the next.

“No one remembers you either, now–so don’t think about telling anyone, Grandpa.”

His family–he hadn’t seen his family in months! He’d just…he’d just left one day, and come here, and just…just stayed! He couldn’t remember how any of it had even happened, and he stumbled back from Huck. “What the fuck are you, you’re not fucking human, no one can do this, this is insane.”

“Well, I am human…mostly–I think?” Huck said, and then shrugged, “It started to blur together a while ago. Still, I’m enjoying myself, aren’t you, daddy?”

Huck slid into his dad’s lap and started making out with him; Justin turned and ran to his room before he could get too turned on and change himself. Rather than listen to them fuck downstairs, he hefted open his window, popped out the screen, and climbed out onto the roof. Could he kill himself? It was only one story, but if he hit head first, maybe he had a chance. Unable to commit, he sat out there for a while instead, until the door to his room opened, and his father entered his room.

“Hey, Justin? What are you doing out there?”

What was he doing out here? He’d been thinking about something…but it had slipped his mind suddenly. A bit confused, he climbed back into his room and found his dad naked in front of him…and fuck, if his son wasn’t one fucking hot middle aged bear. Justin tromped across the room, his gut filling out as he did, hair whitening, and he could smell cum–his grandson’s cubcum, splattered across Tim’s face. He licked it off, and then kissed him deeply, thrusting his tongue into his mouth, feeling the stubble on his bare cheeks.

Through the hole in the wall, Huck watched his father and grandfather fuck. Later, when Justin had cum deep in Tim’s hole, he’d go in there and suck the cum out while grandpa fucked his ass. His dad had already fucked him, but he was always up for another fuck. They would all be fucking forever if he had any say in it–and it was only his say that mattered, as far as they were all concerned.

The FAT Retreat (Part 3)

by Wesley Bracken

Commissioned by / Gift for Gaynerpig

– Day 3 –

“So tell me Leon, how do you feel about yourself? About your size?”

“What…what did you do to me? I…I don’t understand…”

“Just focus on answering the questions please. How do you feel about your size?”

Leon didn’t know how long he had been tied down, with the gas pumping into him. He didn’t know what had happened to him, he didn’t know what to do as he looked down at himself, as the massive amounts of fat hanging off of him. He was even larger than Max now and that was so…so hot! He’d always wanted to be big, right? Bigger? The biggest? But then why wasn’t he happier? Why did he have these nagging doubts that something was wrong? “I…I mean, I love being fat…right? I’m supposed to love it, but…no, I don’t…”

“You don’t love being fat?”

“No, I mean…it’s just so blurry, I don’t understand what happened…”

“Hmmm…” the doctor said, making a few marks on the clipboard he was carrying with him, and then looked thoughtfully at Leon. He was still attached to the cross where he’d been before, but the mask had been removed. It had done it’s job–Leon’s muscular physique was no more–but still, he wasn’t huge, or at least not by the standards of some of the men he’d seen at the retreat. The doctor gave him an eyeball guess of around 275 pounds, and he was very good at guessing at this point. “It seems that you still have some residual cognitive dissonance. I anticipate that the feeling will dissipate over the course of the retreat. You’ll be feeling normal in no time. Still, the sleep study you just completed shows that you’re at risk for sleep apnea, so I’m going to have to prescribe a CPAP machine for you. It’ll be in your room tonight for you to start using.”

“You mean…you mean a…a mask? I don’t want to wear a mask anymore, I don’t want to put that back on, please don’t put it back on me…”

“If you don’t, then you might suffocate in your sleep, and we can’t have that, Leon.”

Leon felt his heart catch in his throat. He knew what those machines were like–his father had had one, he’d seen him sleep with it many times, and that was one reason he’d promised to never get fat…right? But then why is he fat now? And why…why does he kind of like it? Why did he kind of want to get bigger? “What’s happened to me? I don’t want this…not this…”

The doctor looked at him thoughtfully for a second. “Why don’t you want this, Leon?”

“I’m fucking scared shitless, you fucker!” Leon shouted, “Fucking look at me! I’m gonna fucking die!. I’m gonna get fucking diabetes, and my legs and arms are gonna fall off, and this fucking fat is gonna crush the fucking life out of me, and…” Leon tried to continue, but he was sobbing now, and it was the truth. He was terrified. As much as he loved being fat, as much as he wanted to get fatter, the terror of his father haunted him, and the doctor nodded a few times, and then came up and unbuckled Leon’s restraints. “Alright, well, for your first session this morning, I’m prescribing some MentCon–you seem to have some issues you need help sorting out.”

Leon almost fell over when the doctor released him, his legs and arms were numb from being pinned in position, and the doctor helped him into a wheelchair and wheeled him out of the lab, Leon embarrassed to be seen being wheeled around like a mound of trash, and even though he insisted that he could walk, the doctor ignored him and pushed him down several hallways until they came to a series of room labeled MentCon, and he pushed him into one, where he found himself in a cozy office with a large gentleman sitting behind a desk. “Good morning,” the man said, smiling warmly at Leon, and then looked up at the doctor, “What have you got for me?”

“Classic Pocrescophobia. I figured you would be the best for that.”

“Oh I love those–he’ll be as right as rain by lunchtime.”

The therapist left Leon in the wheelchair, and left the office, and he looked around nervously, before hefting himself up out of the chair, aghast at being wheeled around like an invalid.

“That really isn’t necessary, subject 436–have a seat.”

Leon didn’t pay him any mind, and walked over to a wide mirror on the wall and looked at himself. He was still naked–aside from his collar. No one had even bothered to dress him. Looking at his reflection, he was so beautifully fat, but then why was he so terrified? Still, he could look even better. Maybe with another hundred pounds…or maybe two hundred…The thought terrified him, but he couldn’t stop, imagining himself the size of Max–now there was a big man, what a fucking hot piece of meat his roommate was. He wished he’d played around with him when he’d had the chance.

The therapist settled back down behind his desk, and flipped through Leon’s file that the doctor had left behind. “Hmmm…subject 436, would you be so kind as to lay down on the couch for me over there?” Leon looked at the couch by the desk, and unable to resist the command, he waddled over and gingerly sat down on the couch, wondering if he would be able to get back up if he laid down, but he did as the therapist asked. He helped him breathe and relax for a few moments, and then he said into his bracelet, “Sleep, subject 436,” and Leon eyes flickered shut.

“Subject 436, tell me–do you know why you are so afraid of being fat?”

In his slumber, Leon tried to keep a handle on everything he’d kept bottled up for so long, but between the hypnotic compulsion and the terror of the last few days, everything came spilling out. How he’d watched his obese father slowly succumb to diabetes, how he’d hated watching him kill himself with food, how he’d sworn that he would never let that same fate happen to him. However, as it flooded out of him, the therapist started contradicting him, started muddling things up. What had seemed so clear to him before started to seem hazy. He couldn’t remember much of anything about his father, suddenly, and as his memory faded, the fear faded too, like someone had taken it and thrown a thick rug over it, enough to smash it flat and make it unnoticible, and it felt like a great relief, to not have to be afraid any longer, but then the therapist kept talking, filling his head with new memories, and new fears. How he’d been hungry his entire childhood, how he’d spent it terrified that he might go hungry, that he might wither away if he didn’t eat as much as he could, all the time. How he’d always envied fat people, and from that, grown attracted to them. He wanted to be fat more than anything–it didn’t matter what the risks were, it didn’t matter what might happen to him, so long as he kept growing.

A realization came to Leon as he listened to the therapist, a growing knot in him, and he realized he was hungry. When had he last eaten? He couldn’t even remember when his last meal had been, and that filled him with such terror that he flung himself awake from his trance in a panic, and didn’t stop muttering and crying until the therapist dug out a bag of chips from the bin behind his desk and gave it to Leon, who started devouring the chips, and the therapist assured him that his fears were completely legitimate. He should want to be fat, after all, what was the alternative? Wasting away into a stick? Leon couldn’t agree more, and he was so happy that the therapist understood what he was feeling.

“I just feel like a giant weight has been lifted off of me,” Leon said between fistfulls of chips, “I’ so happy that there are other people like me.”

“Yes, there are more of us than you might have realized,” the therapist said, getting up from behind the desk and walking over to Leon. Like all of the people working the retreat, the therapist was a large man, and Leon found himself watching him walk over, his belly jiggling with every step, the therapist reaching down to tweak his nipples with his hands. Leon really wanted to jack off–he was so horny–but the hunger wouldn’t abate, and he had to keep eating–he had to not starve. “You know,” the therapist said, “I saw your roommate, subject 367, last night–Max, right? Tell me, what do you think of Max?”

“I…I suppose he’s hot. But we only saw each other for a little while, when I got here. We didn’t have a chance to…uh…do anything, really.”

“Still, what would you like to do with him? Do you think he’s attractive?”

“I…I mean, yeah…he’s really big. I’d like to be as big as him one day.”

“I bet you would,” the therapist said, dropping his hand down and kneading Leon’s comparatively small gut. He was starting to breathe quickly, being this close to such a large man, but he still couldn’t bring himself to stop eating the chips, at least until he reached the bottom of the bag and emptied the crumbs into his mouth.

“Do…do you have anything else?” Leon asked in a whisper, feeling the therapist press his gut into his chest, “I…I’m still hungry.”

“Sleep subject 436,” the therapist said, and watched Leon’s eyes flicker shut. “subject 436–for the next hour, you are no longer Leon. You are just a dumb fat whore with no name at all–all you care about is sucking cock and begging men to fuck your fat ass.”

“Y–yes sir…” Leon said, and when the therapist slid his thick cock into Leon’s slack mouth, he came alive–sucking it for all it was worth, listening to the therapist moan, happy that he was sucking cock, happy that he was nothing more than a dumb, fat whore. The therapist dragged him off the couch and made the whore beg him for his cock, licking his dress shoes first, tasting the shoe shine on them, before the therapist finally gave in and fucking him roughly, the whore begging him to fuck him harder, and harder still.

Leon woke up on the floor, his mouth and ass sore, but feeling refreshed and not at all worried about what might have happened. He’d just fallen off the couch after all, and the therapist was helpful enough to help him up from the ground.

“Yes subject 436, I think the Fat Action Team is just the place for you–we’ll take good care of you, I promise. Now, it’s almost time for lunch–why don’t you go eat something more substantial?”

The thought of lunch already had Leon salivating, and he struggled up from the couch, fighting against his new gut, and he lumbered out the door naked, cum dribbling from his ass and down the inside of his thighs. He headed down the hall, not paying the therapist any more mind, joining the throng of men as they headed towards the massive mess hall. He lost himself there, in the tables laden with food, desperate to fill the pit of fear in his gut with something–anything–and he gorged like he’d never eaten before, and knowing that he was working to make himself bigger, knowing that today, he wasn’t going to wither, it was making him hard, and he had to pause for a moment to reach underneath his gut, jacking his cock with one food coated hand, shoving cake into his mouth with the other, until he came violently, and returned to the feast.

Still, it ended too soon, but he was ferried towards the doors with the rest, sorting himself into the proper doorway, where the men directed him to Metabolics Lab 15. When he arrived, however, he discovered that he wasn’t alone, like he had been before. In the room was close to a dozen subjects, and they could be easily split into two groups–guys like him, who were relatively clean, and then a set of guys who were filthier than he could even imagine. It took him a moment to recognize one of the men in the other group–it was Max, but his clothing was soaked through with sweat, and he watched as his roommate let off a massive fart, and then sat back into the stench, moaning and massaging his crotch as he did, letting off a huge belch afterwards. It was disgusting, and he couldn’t believe he’d been fantasizing about him in the therapist’s office. How in the hell had he become such a mess in just one day? Had he been out even longer than he’d thought?

They waited for a few minutes, until a few more people arrived for the session, and by then the smell in the room was horrendous, and Leon could see that he wasn’t the only person disgusted by the filthy, fat men in the room. Still, each of them were all sat down and secured into chairs, the clean men facing the filthy ones across the room, but while the clean men were only fitted with masks like the one which had fattened Leon up overnight, something he was increasingly thankful for, considering how close he had been to starving himself, the filthy men across from them were given some sort of injection, and sealed into some kind of glass pod.

As soon as the pods were sealed, Leon saw Max, who was directly across from him, start to writhe in something between pain and ecstasy, and he watched as his roommate suddenly pissed himself in the capsule, the piss puddling around his feet at the bottom of the pod, and then he was cumming as well, huge amounts of semen flowing into the growing puddle as well, and while he couldn’t hear it, or smell it, it looked like he was belching and farting a massive amount, and the thick cigar Max was smoking quickly shrouded the entire pod in a heavy haze. Then, suddenly, he could smell it. It was like the mask he had on had a direct line to Max’s pod, and the funk of his roommate’s body, fluids, and smoke drove it’s way into his lungs, and he tried to gag, but before he could, he started feeling light headed, like he’d felt from the fat gas, and it wasn’t so bad after all. In fact, it was kind of hot, smelling Max’s filthy body, and somehow he knew it was Max, but he couldn’t say why–some residual memory of the cigar smoke from that first night, some hidden remembrance of the man’s subtle BO, but heightened a thousand fold now, and pumped into his lungs, making his cock harder than it had ever been, and unable to stop himself,he spasmed in the chair, and came, shooting across his fat thighs.

He wasn’t alone either–all of the clean men were succumbing to the ecstasy of the filthy men across from them, and they came over and over again. They came again when drains opened up in the bottom of the pods, sucking down the pool of piss and cum that had collected there and pumped it directly into their masks, forcing them all to swallow it down, not that they had any interest in objecting. Some of them began cumming at a near constant clip, and one on the far end actually drained his balls, dry cumming over and over again, nearly seizing in pleasure.

And then, it was over–but not really. Leon had been profoundly changed by his experience, and he fought with him restraints as the doctor freed him from the chair, and he rushed over to Max, getting down and licking the sweat from his wide belly, burying his face into the trucker’s stinking flab, and he came again without even touching himself, and the men all left the lab in pairs, heading to dinner, but Leon spent nearly as much time behind Max sniffing down his farts and cleaning his crack as he did at the table, stuffing his face, the fear still gnawing away at his bones. He was bigger than he’d ever been in his life, but he was still too small, he could still starve, he just wasn’t big enough–would never be big enough to keep the fear away, but at least he could eat, and Max helped him, stuffing his face before belching down his throat, watching Leon swallow down his gas, cumming again, splattering the floor with his seed.

Leon didn’t really remember how he and Max got back to their room–his obsession with Max’s body refused to abate. Every time he smelled him it was like the first time. He would do anything to be near him, he suddenly couldn’t even imagine being apart from him. Back in their room, still without even speaking to each other, Max sat down on the toilet and Leon knelt in front of him, drinking down his piss and then drinking in his farts, the stench of Max’s shit, licked his body clean for him, and finally, after what felt like hours, long after the lights had clicked off, the two of them found their drives winding down, and they were able to regain some of their self-control.

Fumbling in the dark, they discovered that their bunk beds had been replaced with a single king, but neither of them minded. Leon didn’t think he would have been able to sleep away from Max at all. They laid down on the bed together, but Leon felt a strange panic start growing in him as he laid there, coupled with a hard time breathing, and he groped around his side of the bed until he felt something plastic he recognized by feeling as a mask. Of course, he’d have to wear that to sleep now, how could he have forgotten? He pulled on his C-PAP mask, and felt air push it’s way against his face, the sickly sweet smell of fat from his night long growth, coupled with Max’s musk. The big trucker rolled over next to him and spooned him from behind, and the two massive men fell asleep, exhausted, unable to even wonder what the rest of the retreat may have in store for them.

The FAT Retreat (Part 2)

by Wesley Bracken

Commissioned by / Gift for Gaynerpig

– Day Two –

The lights in the room turned on suddenly, and Max snorted himself awake in the lower bunk, and looked around, momentarily confused about where he was. A voice came on from the PA in the room:

Good morning FAT members. Breakfast is scheduled in half an hour. Please be dressed and ready at the door in that time, clothing has been provided for you in your rooms.

Max hefted himself up off the bed and took a moment to rub his gut. He was getting so big now, he loved it. He could only vaguely remember his life before his first FAT meeting, how he’d always felt so guilty about his size, but no longer–now he just wanted to get bigger, and the videos he’d seen of himself on the web were so hot he couldn’t wait to star in a few more. He secretly hoped, though, that he wasn’t going to be staring in any with Leon–the slim guy just wasn’t his type at all. Thinking about Leon, he got up off the bed and looked in the top bunk, but it was empty–and he looked around his room, and there was no sign of his bunkmate anywhere. That was certainly strange, but he didn’t think too much of it–there was probably some sort of rational reason for his disappearance. Still, the young man had been pretty delusional–no one was here under duress after all–so he hoped he hadn’t run off or something.

Max looked around, and saw that a loose fitting shirt and some sweats had been hung on a bar by the door, and Max looked around, puzzled about where the clothes he’d been wearing the day before had gone. He gave a shrug, took a moment to use the toilet, and then pulled on his clothing. The clothes were very big on him, even at his size, and the shirt had a number printed in a large typeface on both sides, “367” but he didn’t know what that meant. He sat down on his bunk for a few minutes and smoked one of several cigars he found in his sweats pocket, until the door slid open, and he got up again and looked out into the hallway, as the voice spoke again:

FAT members, please follow the yellow lights lining the top of the walls to the mess hall. After breakfast, you will be directed to your first personalized session of the retreat.

The hallway was already packed with men, all of them around Max’s size, trudging down the hallway, and Max pushed his way into the throng and followed the current, seeing the yellow lights guiding their path up where the walls met the ceiling, and after a short walk, the hallway emptied out into a massive room which reminded Max of an airplane hanger with a horribly low ceiling. Still, the smells! He was starving, and pushing forward he could see that the tables were heaped with food of all kinds–it seemed like each was set differently, and while he wanted to look at them all and see what each offered, he saw that the mass of men was already crowding around the tables, not even using the chairs and benches, and he got the sudden sense that if he did not choose now, he would eat nothing, like a massive game of musical chairs, the runt who didn’t get to the bitch’s nipple in time. The fear of not eating raced through him, and he shoved his way up to the nearest table and simply ate–it didn’t matter what he was eating, all that mattered was that he didn’t go hungry. The competition of the feed consumed him for the next three hours, as the men ate each and every table in the room down to scraps, demolishing one before moving onto the next which was relatively unoccupied, and by the end of breakfast time they milled about, none of them hungry, and yet all of them desperate to eat, plucking scraps off the empty tables, biding time, and the men turned their attention to each other, eyeing each other guts appreciatively, and a few brasher men began kissing, licking the leftover food from each other’s faces, and perhaps smearing a glob of butter on another’s penis, feeling their fat shiver as they jacked them quickly.

Sensing the restlessness of the room, at least ten doors on both the long sides of the mess hall slid open, and the voice came on again:

FAT members, on your shirt is your subject number for the duration of the retreat. Please make your way to the gate your number falls within, and you will be directed to your first FAT session.

Max looked down at his shirt, and saw it was covered with food, but wiping some of it away he could make out his number, and pushed his way through the crowd to the gate marked “350-400” and queued up, where they were slowly filed through, and Max was collected by a robust man in a white lab coat and escorted down several hallways until they came to a small laboratory labeled “Metabolics Lab #3”. There was one other subject there already, slightly smaller than Max, in one of the chairs of the room, and a young, cubbish lab assistant was strapping him to the chair. The man who’d escorted him sat Max in the next seat, and when the assistant finished with the first man, he began securing Max to the seat, and he got a little scared. He’d participated in one light bondage flick with FAT, but this seemed a bit strange. Two more men were eventually escorted into the lab and similarly secured, before the door slid closed and the doctor came over.

“Welcome gentlemen,” he said, “We will be starting you off with a metabolic manipulation this morning. This will require several subcutaneous and intravenous injections, and then we will monitor your progress over the next three hours, to insure there are no unwanted effects.”

“Wait, injections?” one of the men in the room said, “I hate needles.”

The doctor simply ignored him, and he and the assistant progressed down the line, giving each man a number of injections in many parts of their bodies, and the first man, the one with the fear of needles, gave the greatest struggle, but otherwise the process was rather smooth, and after the shots had been given, the assistant and the doctor retreated back behind a row of computers to observe, though it wasn’t long before the doctor had his hands down the chubby cub’s pants and his tongue down the younger man’s throat.

The four men in the room, meanwhile, were watching the scene, all of them turned on, and Max noticed that he was starting to sweat. The temperature in the lab wasn’t too great, and yet in a matter of minutes, his shirt was nearly soaked through, and his hair and beard were sopping wet. Looking at the other men, he saw that they were all in a similar condition, their food stained shirts matted to their bodies, and then they started to smell. It started as a fairly normal scent of body odor, but as the hours passed, it grew worse and worse, until each of the men had started to feel a bit sick to their stomachs.

“Oh god, what the…is this normal?” one of the men said, as another retched a bit from the fuck rolling off his body.

“Yes… oh fuck yes…” the doctor said from the floor behind the computers where he was fucking the cub’s ass, but none of the men knew whether he was talking about them or not. Finally, the doctor and the cub finished up, and they started walking from man to man, examining them in turn, giving them each a pill to help with the nausea, and took samples of their sweat on cotton swabs from various areas of their bodies, especially their armpits, crotch and ass crack, and set them aside.

Max kept hoping the sweating would stop, but it seemed to only grow worse, and he was actually getting thirsty. Sensing their need, the doctor and assistant helped keep them hydrated, and by the end of the first session, all of the men were reeking like they hadn’t showered in weeks. The doctor checked the time, and started unbuckling the straps on each of the men, “Alright, everything looks normal–go have lunch, your first session is over.”

“Wait, what?” one of the men said, “You’re just…I mean, when will I stop sweating like this?”

“Yeah, I mean, this is kind of gross…” Max said.

“Don’t worry gentlemen, everything will be taken care of. Go enjoy lunch, I’m sure you’re all hungry.”

They were all hungry, but that was nothing new. Still, the four of them left the room and followed the yellow lights back to the mess hall, where they all devoured another meal, trying not to be alarmed by their new scent. The men in the room all seemed disconcerted for various reasons, but Max was too busy feeling embarrassed by his stink to think about what everyone else must have been going through, and he tried to find tables which were lightly packed, because every time he pushed up next to someone, they would retch or give him the worst scowl, and it made him feel awful.

Lunch ended eventually, and he made his way back to the gate, where a different sort of man escorted him off. Instead of being dressed in a labcoat, he was simply dressed in a business suit, and appeared unfazed by Max’s new stench, which he was thankful for. The man even offered him a cigar as they walked, and they arrived in a cozy looking office labeled “Mental Conditioning Rm. 33”, with a cushy armchair facing a massive TV mounted on the wall. The man had Max sit down in the chair, and then dimmed the lights, but before Max could ask what was going on, the TV turned on and a massive prismatic spiral drew him in within seconds, and Max’s entire world collapsed, but off in the distance, he could almost make out the suited man talking to him, telling him how much he loved his filthy stink, how smelling like a sweat and cum stained rag turned him on, how he smoked nearly constantly and loved the stench of strong tobacco, and how he refused to shower, wash his hands, brush his teeth, or even change his clothes, preferring to be as dirty and grimy as possible.

He had no idea how much time had passed, but when he came back to himself, the lights were back up and the TV was off, like no time had passed at all, and he took a deep inhale of his stench, and let out a sigh of pleasure, his cock hardening beneath his belly.

“Alright subject 367, I just need to ask you a few questions if that’s alright.”

“Huh? Oh…uh…sure…” Max said, but he was more interested in his armpit for some reason, and he lifted an arm and took a deep sniff of the funk there, and then licked up his own sweat with a moan.

“Alright, on a scale of one to ten, with one being low and ten being high, please tell me how much you like your current hygiene level.”

“Fuck, can I answer eleven? I smell so fuckin’ hot…” Max said, and unable to help himself, reached into his pants and started groping at his cock. “Oh yeah, definitely a…well,, maybe a nine, but only because I bet I…I bet I can get even filthier, oh fuck…”

“Now, how many showers would you say you plan to take in the next month.”

“None, I don’t shower ever.”

“Alright, and how frequently do you wipe after defecating?”

“You mean, like, when I take a shit?”

“Yes.”

“Uh…I guess not very often. Maybe if it’s a real messy one, but not usually.”

“Sleep, subject 367,” the doctor said, and Max’s eyes went blank, “You do not wipe your ass after taking a shit. Never. Do you understand?”

“Yes sir…”

“Wake subject 367,” Max jolted up again, and without missing a beat the man repeated his question, “Subject 367, how frequently do you wipe after defecating?”

“Oh, never. My underwear takes care of that.”

“Alright. Now, how often do you change your clothes?”

“I don’t. I fuckin’ love wearin’ clothes until they’re stinkin’ rags.”

“And you’re a smoker, right?”

“I am–cigars, preferably.”

“What kind of cigars do you like to smoke, 367?”

“Oh man, the smellier the better. They’d better reek, and make me reek too, for hours after I’m done with them…speaking of which…” Max added, figiting a bit, “Do you mind if I light up? Feels like I haven’t smoked in hours.”

“Well, I suspect you haven’t. And here, try one of these, I’m sure you’ll like them, given your tastes.” The doctor handed him a large, rough cigar, and the smoke was far more acrid and thick than Max was used to, but man did it stink. It was giving him a hard on, sitting in a cloud of foul smoke and musk, and the doctor, smiling a bit, got up and shoved a hand down the front of Max’s sweat soaked pants, into his gummy fatpad and jacked him off quickly, Max happy for the attention, even if the suddenness left him feeling a bit uneasy. The doctor wiped his cum soaked hand across Max’s beard, letting him lick the last bit off his fingers, before sitting down again.

‘Alright 367, everything seems to be in order. Just one last question. How important is it for a sexual partner to approve of your hygiene?”

“Oh, very important, man, I need a man who fuckin’ loves my stinkin’ body like I do.”

“Alright, it looks like you check out. Why don’t you go to dinner?”

“Dinner?” Max asked, “But I just ate lunch, like, half an hour ago.”

“Lunch was three hours ago. Now, go on and eat, and then return to your room. You’ve had a long day.”

A bit confused, Max got up out of the chair and followed the throngs of men outside the door to the mess hall, where he devoured another massive meal, but this time, instead of avoiding people, he pushed his way into the throngs, loving how his stench could drive men away, letting him get closer than anyone else. After eating way too much, even for himself, Max waddled off back to his room and lumbered inside, where the first thing he did was take a massive shit, and then he sat on the toilet, smelling the stench and jacked off, wiping the cum on his sweaty gut and into his gunt, enjoying the sticky feeling, before getting off and flushing. Then, he stripped out of his clothes and laid down on the bunk, smoking cigar after cigar while jacking off over and over, licking up his sweat and smelling his funk for several hours before finally collapsing and falling asleep long after the lights had turned off, wondering what the next day would have in store for him.