Ah, another satisfying conversation with Gareth on the CB. I haven’t spoken to him for a while–apparently his travels haven’t brought him through my neck of the woods lately, but as soon as he can, he dials into my frequency, begging me to let him shower. It’s been weeks, he tells me, but his fear of water just gets worse. He reeks, he says, but I console him. Surely he must enjoy it, I tell him.

He eventually admits that he does, and soon I have him sniffing his pits and jacking off on the road. He begs me to stop, to let him go, but then he’s back to his usual piggy self. Still, it was a bit unfair for him to never get a shower.

He tried not to listen when I told him to piss himself, when I told him that the only kind of showers he really wants anyway are golden ones from biker gangs and other dirty truckers like himself. He fought for a little, but then he did it–pissed his pants on the road, and came right after. I talked him into two more orgasms before he slipped out of range again, but he’s gonna be plenty soaked from here on out. Dang, I should’ve had him swing by my place–now I have a hard-on and it ain’t gonna suck itself. Oh hold on, there’s Clyde. That pig’ll do anything for a cock in his cunt–I’ll meet him out at Indian Crest and give him a good fucking instead, and maybe ram my fist up there for good measure.

Joel had some…well…anger issues. Physical aggression, to him, was just the easiest way to settle the score. He’d gotten into any number of bar fights over the years since his college days, but things had gotten worse recently, with him punching coworkers at the office, and a domestic violence complaint by his wife. He knew he needed to find some other way to take out his anger, so when trolling Craigslist he saw an ad for an underground wrestling competition, he thought it couldn’t hurt.

He’d wrestled back in high school, and while he wasn’t in great shape, he trusted his instincts and rage to push him over the top–however, he seriously misjudged his first opponent. Pinned in under a minute, and then the chain around his neck, and then…why did he feel so strange? He crawled over to the victor, nuzzled the older man’s rock hard cock through the singlet, licking and tasting his sweat, feeling his anger dissolve into obedience. He’d neglected to notice that the losers were owned by the victors for a week after each round, but he suddenly didn’t mind. He felt calm, obedient, and god, this cock tasted so good…

“Whatcha lookin’ at dad?” your son says, looking over his shoulder, his jeans dropped down around his ankles, and you can’t help but stare. You’d thought that a little backwoods vacation would be good for your son–toughen him up a bit–but it had only been three days and he’s growing a beard thicker than yours. Was something changing him? He’d said he’d found something that first day, in the woods, but then where were your feelings coming from? This…lust. Waking up next to your naked son in bed, feeling him stroke your cock, you let him continue for a moment too long before leaping out of bed, furious and now this. He wants you, and you’re losing the ability to say no.

He strips you down, discards his own clothes, and pulls you into the woods, his grip unyielding. He’s changing as you run, growing furry, teeth becoming fangs, hands and feet become paws. He’s…he’s a bear, and suddenly the two of you are surrounded by others, at the foot of an altar. This…this is what he’d found, and it looks like the two of you wouldn’t be leaving these woods anytime soon.

You look around the rest area…what are you doing here again? You were on a trip, or something, and…and what were you driving? Where were you going? Huh…that’s an odd thing to forget, you suppose. Still, it’ll come back to you…right?

You head into the restroom to take a piss–damn your ass hurts. You must have just had something a bit too spicy at that Flying J, when you were last on the road with…with someone, right? But with who? You shake your head and finish pissing, figuring it isn’t important. Right now you just have to go wait…yeah, wait for someone. You take a look at yourself in the bathroom mirror. When was the last time you shaved? Or had a shower? You take a sniff of your pits and recoil a bit. Fuck you stink–is that piss? You notice your shirt is damp…but you don’t remember why. Too bad there isn’t a shower here. Oh well, best to just go wait.

You sit down at a picnic bench by the trucks parked at the rest area, waiting. It’s a bit cold, and the hi-viz vest you’re wearing doesn’t do much to fend it off. You don’t know why you’re wearing it–only that it’s important. If he didn’t have it on, the man he’s waiting for won’t be able to find him. You hope whoever you’re waiting for comes by soon. There’s a trucker approaching–a bit cautiously–and as he comes closer he asks, “Need a lift?”

“Need a lift”–the words resonate in your head, unlocking all sorts of doors. “Sure thing, daddy,” you say–the sex rolling off your tongue. “I’ll go anywhere you’re going.”

“Get in the cab, bitch.”

You rush to obey, climbing up into his cab behind him. You have his dick down your throat as fast as you can, hungry for him, for your daddy. You love your daddy so much. He fucks you then, calling you a dirty filthy whore and you thank him for his cum. When he finishes, the two of you drive for a bit, you suck his cock whenever he has a load for you, and drink his piss for good measure as well, because you want to be the best trucker whore out there. This daddy is a nice one–he buys you a meal like he’s required to, but even lets you shower when you stop, and then he says the words, the words you hate–“I’m finished, fuck off whore.”

You forget again, you always forget. Wandering off, your ass tender, you look around for your car. How long has it been like this? You don’t remember. Still, you wait. Wait for the next guy to give you a lift. Wait for your next trucker daddy to come along and whisk you away down the road.

I don’t get it, why won’t he take a fucking shower? It’s been two weeks–he’s stinking up the whole apartment. Just use some fucking deodorant or something, but fuck, I can’t…Gotta just sniff it, sniff it a bit. I mean, just…

Fucking smell him in there, in his room, workin’ out, yeah, workin’ out sweating, fuck, can smell him in there, gotta sniff sniff, fucking snif it, bury my fuckin’ face in his pit, lick it, fuckin’ yeah Fuck fuck fuck!

Again, I fucking came again, god fucking damn it, what the hell is going on. I need to get out of here, get some fresh air…just gotta…why won’t the door open? What the hell? And none…none of the windows either? I mean…I mean it does smell…I gotta…gotta smell it, gotta smell him, right, fuck–I have to get out of here, I have to.

There he is, he’s so sweaty, I can see the stains, see the sheen of it on him, he’s so nasty, so fuckin’ nasty, gotta…gotta go sniff him, yeah, sniff it, fuckin’ lick it all, lick it like a pig good pig, pig fuck, yeah…

Here’s a picture a me wit’ mah latest trespasser. He came up mah drive one night, tellin’ me his car broke down on the road, but I knew what he was, really. Another one a ‘em spies, sent by the guvment, just like the rest. Sure, it took a few days, but I beat the truth out. He says he a real sorry–the fuckin’ liar. He don’t know what it means tah be sorry, but I’ll learn him here soon enough.

I’ve been thinking ’bout the fact that I could use a fancy garbage disposal, somethin’ tah make mah food scraps intah compost faster. Think I’ll hook the spy up tah the sink, work a drain down his throat intah his belly, ‘n he can take care a that fer me. It’ll be tough gettin’ him tah fit under the sink–but a garbage disposal don’t need arms ‘r legs, right? Think I’ll get a couple more fucks outa him ‘fore convertin’ him though. He’s got a real tight ass, that one. Maybe I’ll make ’em a fuckhole instead, ‘n then move ’em intah the kitchen when his ass is good ‘n loose. Sounds like a plan tah me!

“See Kit? It don’t hurt so bad anymore, does it?”

“Nah, Jimmy. That…that feels real good. Can…Can I jack my cock Jimmy? I’m real horny, ‘n I don’t know what your hand keeps hitting but…but fuck…”

“That? That’s yer loveknot–every pig like you has one. Now keep that arm still. Damn you look good with your hair cut like that Kit. Like a right punk–a nasty, trashy skin.”

“Oh god Jimmy, don’t stop–that feels so good…”

“Not as good as that needle feels I bet. It still hurts right, but it’s a good kinda hurt, like what we’ve been talkin’ about. The good kind of hurt that makes your cock hard and your ass hungry, ain’t that right?”

“Gettin’…Gettin’ close Jimmy…can, can I cum, sir? Please?”

“Edge it Kit. Edge it, ride that cusp. It hurts, don’t it? But you crave that even more, or you will soon. Don’t worry, we’re gonna get all new gear for you, get you pierced, all dressed up in rubber with your cock locked up. A right and proper skinpig, just like you wanted. I can’t wait.”

Like, I can’t tell you how amazing it’s been to work with Master Trainer. I was crazy skeptical at first, I mean, who wouldn’t be? The training program is, like, hella extreme, but when I sat down with Master Trainer and I felt…um…so calm, and everything he said made, like, so much sense, I just signed right up.

I had no idea that I was going to have to sacrifice so much to get into shape, though. I mean, quitting my job, breaking up with my girlfriend–those were, like, understandable. After all, I needed so much more time to work out with Master Trainer, but the drugs hella scared me at first. Still, when I noticed the drop in my libido, it just made working out that much more important to me. I swear, I haven’t jacked it in, like, months now. My cock is so small–it looks amazing in my posing trunks. Sure, the side effects were strange, like my hair falling out, and my voice jumped, like, so high, but, Master trainer has a thing for muscle headed valley girl sluts. I’m so hot now though, and it’s all thanks to Master Trainer!

When most people find out that the water company is going to be tearing their street up for the next two weeks, they’re probably pissed off. Granted, it’s been loud while they work but man, the eye candy! I love a guy in work gear, getting dusty and dirty. Still, none of the guys were really as filthy as I like, so, being the nice neighbor, I’ve been offering them a special lunch each day.

I hear the project has been extended another week because the men keep taking extremely long lunches, and there’s been complaints about their collective hygiene. One of my neighbors even caught them having sex in her backyard–that was hilarious. I’ve definitely found my favorite though, and he’s getting some special treatment. Gareth just goes under so easy–I think he likes it. I’m gonna push him and see how far he’ll go. By the end of the week, he’s gonna be pissing and shitting himself as he’s working, not even noticing until someone else points it out to him. Sure, he’ll feel humiliated, but love the stench too much to even clean himself up. By the end of the week, he’ll be happily incontinent for life.

No, I don’t think the two of them are scared anymore. In fact, I don’t think the two of them are feeling, or thinking, much of anything anymore. What do you think, I would say they’re about 90% covered myself, and it while the spread has slowed, it won’t stop until they’re completely covered. I did both of them just last week–they were planning on getting married, and wanted each other’s names on their arms. Stupid. They’re much hotter, and kinkier, just pieces of meat now, like you’ll be.

Is it spreading? Of course it’s spreading you dipshit. And no, that raging hardon you’ve got isn’t going away, not now, not ever. Now go on, suck their cocks like a good tattoo bitch. See? You can’t even resist my orders. Pretty soon, you’re gonna be one more empty headed tatted whore for my collection. Still, I don’t much like your look–I don’t think I’ll keep you. I can probably get 10 million for you on the market though. You’d be amazed how much rich men will pay to have a punked out ass for them to play with whenever they want–just you wait and see.