The Catcall Curse (Part 4)

In the dimness of the bar, it seemed to the pig that he’d been surrounded by a single wall of flesh, the lines and boundaries between men indiscernible from the shadows. The wall was in constant motion, the faces at the top shifting as men jostled for position at either end. No sooner would a cock slip into his mouth or ass, that someone else would push him away and take his place. There were…too many of them. Too many men. He couldn’t do this by himself, he couldn’t please all of these men. The spell needed outlets, and so, the singular mass around Clyde began to break apart, smaller bubbles forming.

The jeers would start out as benign, masculine posturing. One man would challenge the other’s prowess or form. But always one or two would be isolated, torn down further, unable to muster a returning challenge, finding the constant barrage of humiliation from the men now surrounding them to be…turning them on, not making them upset or angry. Soon, they were asking for for, begging the men to abuse them further, unable to keep their hands from their cocks, licking their lips, thinking about how good all of these men’s cocks would taste. From one pig came four. When four was too many, the spell made twelve pigs scattered throughout the room. Twelve was still too few–so it made twenty. All of them were slightly different–reflections of the particular crowd that shaped them and called them forth.

The spell tended to focus on deserving parties. Two of Clyde’s lieutenants, who had often been the crudest and loudest calling to the women, always competing with the old Clyde for the best comment of the day, found themselves surrounded by men, who began taunting them together:

“Look at you two, like a couple of faggots. Bet all you two brutes want is to have your cocks in each other’s faces!”

“Yeah, they might look like men, but you know they’ll moan like a couple a whores!”

The constant barrage of comments formed a constant static. They heard all of it, and yet couldn’t separate any one bit from the mass of sound, as they stroked and rubbed each other’s hair bellies, leaning in close for a deep kiss that only grew more intense as the crowd pulled in tighter around them. The two of them were still kissing, face to face, as the men forced them over a table and started working their asses over, first with their cocks, then with their fists, the two men’s construction gean becoming leather and rubber highlighted with red.

Others were pulled in by the spell because they showed an odd resistance. A younger man, who’d remained pressed to the wall–caught between a terror at what he was seeing urging him to flee, and a strange, external compulsion planting his feet and urging him to join in. The men noticed his reluctance, they began to break off, laughing, pointing and jeering at him:

“Hey little boy, don’t be shy, I know what that pretty ass of yours likes!”

“Got nothing to say? Good! Everyone knows a mouth like that isn’t meant for talking.”

One man stepped forward and started working the young man over, and the crowd surrounded them both, urging them both on, the daddy finding himself holding the leash of his cub’s collar, proud of how good his little boy was doing, his first night out. He was nervous, sure, but the catcalls were turning him on–everyone could see it–and after he’d drank a full load of his massive daddy’s cum, he was more than happy to be led around on his hands and knees, servicing anyone else his daddy liked.

Eventually, enough attention was diverted away from Clyde, that he discovered there was no one else around him–they had all lost interest, and gone off to look at the new whores forming their own orbits around the room. He was angry, frustrated. People were supposed to be looking at him, wanting him, disgusted by him, and he looked around until he laid eyes on the one person still paying him attention–a man he could just make out through the grimy window of the bar, hunkered down and staring at him. He beckoned him in, and saw the man’s eyes go wide.

Jack hadn’t wanted to be noticed. He’d been…happy observing the festivities inside the bar, content to avoid the full force of this incredibly savage curse as best he could. It wasn’t like it could do him any real damage–or at least he hoped it couldn’t. He hadn’t made one of these storms in a while, and he’d always been careful to keep his distance before. Now, he didn’t really have a choice, but to try and keep to the edge, and hope the wind wouldn’t pick him up with a sudden gust and whirl him in closer.

Then, Clyde saw him. Clyde didn’t just see him, however–it was more that Clyde knew him. The spell, through Clyde, recognized him, the power he had in him, and it was…hungry. It wanted to be bigger, it wanted to exact more justice. He was too close, this was too powerful, even for him. The pig…wanted him. He stood up, and fought his body moving him inside the bar, trying to protect himself from the power threatening to engluf him, but he felt helpless. That was, really, how curses worked–the harder you fought, the more they ensnared you until you couldn’t even fight anymore, until you couldn’t even imagine why anyone would fight this. But he had to fight, he had to. With all of his will, he froze himself a few yards inside, focusing his mind as best he could, pushing against the spell, trying to create a zone of protection for himself.

That, of course, couldn’t stop Clyde from approaching him. The pig could sense the power rolling off him, and he was so hungry for it. So hungry to be punished, desperate for it now. And this man, whoever he was–he could sense that no one would be able to punish him like he would, and with a laugh, he whispered in Jake’s ear with a voice not quite his own, “Come on now, don’t be scared–don’t you want to play with a nasty pig like me?”

Another long day on the convention floor, and he was itching to be out of his damn suit. Literally itching. Ever since…since that wild night in pigtown, anything that wasn’t rubber or leather was just so difficult to keep on after a few hours. Part of him just wanted to rip the clothes apart, but he restrained that desire. He’d been working on this, he’d been working on controlling this. As much…as much as he wanted to just give in (and god did he want to just give in, fuck, he’d been fighting it for what felt like an eternity and it hadn’t gotten any easier) he made himself slowly take off his coat, undo his buttons one at a time, his hands shaking, drop his pants, and breathe a sigh of relief. At least he could wear the rubber underneath–that helped more than anything else. He laid back on the bed, groping his hard, leaking cock through the jock, moaning softly, feeling so much better now that he was free again, now that he was…himself.

No–No, that was a lie. This wasn’t him, this was just…just a need. Once he released it, he’d feel better again, he knew he would. He always did feel better for a time. He’d just spent the day cruising the convention floor, and he’d arranged a few…dates with several men, at hour intervals, all night long. He looked over at the play pen he’d brought along in a massive trunk. It seemed…too elaborate, but he couldn’t very well play without his dungeon, right? He couldn’t be…be a proper pig without it. Couldn’t help more men see…see how good it would be if they were pigs too.

He was so close now, to cumming, to losing himself. He tried to contain it, to at least…focus it. He looked at the clock–ten minutes until the first one would be here, but he didn’t know if he could wait that long. He stared at the clock, watching the numbers, staring at them, and thankfully the man was early. He flung open the door and dragged the man inside–the stranger barely recognized the man clothed head to toe in rubber as the sweet, seductive man in the tailored suit from earlier, but after a few minutes, he didn’t care. After thirty minutes, he didn’t care about anything, with the man’s fist burrowed deep in his ass to the elbow, grunting and squealing and…and changing.

Sure, they may not deserve it. But it was better them than him. Somehow, he knew that if…if he could just keep making other men into pigs, then he would be spared. He could keep his life, the life he’d fought so hard for. The second date arrived, and he dragged him in as well, making him eat out the first pig’s sloppy hole. Was he just lying to himself? Maybe, but he didn’t have to care right now, his mouth turned into a vicious grin, listening to the man gasp for breath, smothered in the pig’s ass. He loved this too much to question it now, and he’d keep bringing home more pigs as long as he was able.

Source: bootedray

Learning to Like Ass (Part 4)

WARNING: ***SCAT***

From that day on, things seemed even stranger to Rudy. For one thing, his body–he knew it was wrong, he knew that he shouldn’t be this fat, that…his fucking face was all wrong. He’d been handsome, but now, with the shaggy, unkempt beard; the under bite with the crooked, missing teeth; the bulbous and crooked nose; unibrow and severe balding…well, he wasn’t much to look at at all. His body wasn’t right either, not this fat fucking tub of lard he’d woken up with. He could…almost remember it, how muscular he’d been, how much effort he’d put into his body, and all of it had disappeared over night, leaving him an almost 400 pound lard ass–with an emphasis on ass. His gut was huge, sure, but it was his hips that were so insanely wide, his ass jiggling with every step he took, gently vibrating the dildo or plug he wore…all the time now, whenever he wasn’t getting properly fucked, of course. He did his best to carry on, but the hunger was constant–he had to feed his mouth nearly as often as he had to feed his other hole.

It would have been easier if other people had noticed the changes as well, but everyone just acted like this was normal, like he’d always been like this. And in some ways, he had–guy’s recognized him in the woods now, not as a top, but as a ugly pig bottom, willing to take a load from anyone, no matter who they were. Work was…hard. Not because of his size, but because something had happened to his head. Sure, construction wasn’t exactly something that needed brains, and Rudy had never been smart, but fuck, he just didn’t…get numbers anymore. They like, counted things, sure, but he didn’t even know how much anything was, it was nuts. He started carrying around hundred dollar bills, just so he wouldn’t have to embarrass himself when he handed over not enough cash for food on booze at the gas station on the way to the rest area after work. It was like he was trapped in some fucked up dream–the only time he felt awake–really awake–was when he was in the woods, or in a bathroom stall with some big cock in his hole, snorting and grunting, begging whoever it might be for a hot load in his ass so his cock could shoot again.

It wasn’t really surprising when he got fired. He couldn’t do the work anymore, and his brain was shot. If anything, it was a relief. He’d hated working–all he wanted to do anymore, the only thing he could focus on, was eating and filling his ass with as much cock as he could find. He spend his whole day cruising rest areas and truck stops now, well aware that his meager savings was going to run out sooner or later, but this new him–he just didn’t care about any of that. His ass would just keep tingling, his cock would get hard, and the only thing that would matter was finding some cock so he could cum. He never wanted to go through that again, the aching balls, the sleepless nights. He also…kept hoping he’d see that biker again. He didn’t know what he’d do if he really did see him. Ask him what he’d done to him. Ask him to change him back. Ask him if he’d just gone insane.

When it did happen, finally, Rudy was nearly out of money. It was dark, but he was still in the woods, sitting down against the truck of a tree, feeling some stranger’s cum leak out of his ass into his underwear. He’d gotten fucked a few times, he felt good, but…but he didn’t want to go home. He didn’t want to stay here either, of course, but he didn’t want to go back there either, back to that stinking wreck of a sty. He’d given up on keeping anything clean, along with the rest of his life, and he just couldn’t face it anymore. It was twilight, but he didn’t know when exactly it was–it felt like he’d been there for ages when he smelled the cigar smoke, and his heart leapt up.

“Hey Rudy, long time no see.”

He looked around and saw him a few paces away, the butt of his cigar the brightest thing in his world, and he started crawling away, utterly terrified. “Please, please just leave me alone, please…” He said.

“I’m just trying to educate you, Rudy. I just wanted you to understand why I love asses so much, and I wanted you to love them too. Don’t you want to love them Rudy?” The biker stepped out in front of him, even though he should have been behind him. “Don’t try and run Rudy, there’s nowhere for you to go. When’s the last time you ate, Rudy? You hungry?”

“Oh god, please no, not that,” he tried to turn around, but the roots of the trees were holding him in place, and all he could do was stare at the biker undoing his pants and chaps, and dropping them to the forest floor.

“I do love a fuck, of course, but nothing gets me off better than a fat, filthy pig like you eating the shit from my ass. I haven’t had a pig riding with me in awhile, you know Rudy, and you don’t have a lot of options. Better to spend your life doing something you love, right? And you are hungry, right? So fucking hungry for some fuckin’ shit, right Rudy?”

His gut was growling, he was shaking with hunger, with need. He felt his clothes shifting, his shirt splitting apart into a leather vest, tattoos swirling over his fat body, greasy jeans and chaps covering his wide ass. He snuffled forward and licked at his biker master’s hole, loosening him up, waiting for him to bore down and feed his pig his first proper meal.

When Nick moved back in with his father, after college, because he couldn’t find a job that paid him enough to live on his own, he immediately noticed that his father had struck up a friendship with a neighbor who had moved next door while Nick was at school. His dad wouldn’t say much about him, but the two of them would spend hours in the neighbor’s garage, and every time his dad came home, he’d reek of cigars and beer–things his father never would have touched when Nick was a kid, before his mom left them.

His dad had changed a bit too–he’d grown a beard, he’d quit his job as an accountant and worked as a delivery truck driver–something Nick told him was below his level of intellect…but the more he talked with his dad, the less he was sure of that. His dad didn’t seem too…smart all of a sudden. The man who’d taught him to build electric circuit boards when he was a teenager couldn’t figure out simple math problems. He sounded like some…hick.

He was certain something was going on, and he was going to figure out what it was. One morning, after Mr. Pescole, the neighbor, had left for work, he noticed that he’d left his garage door open. Curious, he went over, slipped inside, and closed it behind him, planning on just taking a little peek–when someone came up and forced something over his head. He fought whoever it was, but…but whatever it was, the mask, it was making his head hurt, it was making him…horny. He got down on his hands and knees, snorting, ripping at his clothes, the mysterious man tearing them away, and then forcing something else on him, these leather straps, but Nick didn’t care–Nick just wanted to cum.

There was the sound of a camera taking a picture, then he heard his father’s voice.

“Sir, he came, just like you thought he would.”

“…”

“All…all day? But, I only wore it for a few hours, I mean…”

“…”

“Yeah…I mean, yes sir, sorry sir. I understand, I’ll be punished when you get home, yes. We’ll be here.”

Nick tried to speak, but all he could do was grunt and moan. His body was hot, he could…feel something pushing from his skin, hairs. His father got down and wrapped his hand around Nick’s cock, his son thrusting into his fist until he shot a load all over the garage floor.

“I’m…sorry son. But Master–try not to worry, you’ll like it. There…won’t be much of you left, I don’t think, but you’ll be happy. I promise.”

Source: 2016hailcock

“How does that feel, Timmy? Does it feel as good as you’d imagined it might?”

“Oh God Grandpa, it feels…it feels so…so full, in there! So…good…”

“Yeah, that’s right. Now that grandpa has his whole fucking hand in you, do you know what that makes you, Timmy?”

“N-No…?”

“It means you’re my puppet, Timmy. It means I have my whole hand in you, and now I can control you, can;t I? You can feel my hand getting bigger inside you, pushing deeper, your body hollowing out? Feel yourself going limp?”

“Y-Yes…”

“That’s a good boy, that’s a good puppet. My hand’s so big now, it’s all the way up in your brain–you can feel it in there, I bet–because I control your brain now, because now, we’re going to get rid of all that shame, all that fear, and the only thing this puppet’s brain is going to want is to be grandpa’s little pig–would you like that? To be a piggy puppet, just for Grandpa?”

“I…it hurts…”

“Oh, it won’t hurt for long. Look how fat you’re getting, how pudgy, little piggy. No more talking for you, all you’re gonna do is oink and squeal, right pig?”

*SNORT*

“Yeah, that’s good–you’ll feel empty without me, you you’ll feel me in there again soon–for now, I wanna get my cock in that fat piggy hole, and I wanna hear by grandpig squeal!”

Requested & Submitted by @inchingtowardursinity

He couldn’t believe how long they’d been taking, building the house next door to his. He’d been surprised when the person who’d bought the large house beside his had simply bulldozed everything, opting to build a new house all from scratch. he hadn’t really seen much of the new owner; he appeared to be taking a rather hands off approach to his new house, and in Charles’s opinion, it showed in the amount of work the crew was putting into it. Often, it seemed like they weren’t doing anything all, beyond being rowdy, loud and a general nuisance.

The crew was full of older, burly men—all of them with a considerable amount of tattoos, most with beards, and every single one of them seemed to be smoking something–cigarettes, pipes, cigars. The smoke was the worst part–he couldn;t seem to escape it, and the more he smelled it, the harder it was to focus on his own work around the house. One time, he’d been trying to do yard work, when he realized he’d just been…standing there for close to half an hour in one spot, just…smelling the smoke. He was angry at himself, and didn’t even notice the fact that he was hard, suddenly.

Still, Charles warmed up to the crew over time. He befriended a few of them over the fence one afternoon. It turned out that the reason things were taking so long was that the crew was understaffed, and the owner was taking forever, on the plans and details. Not too long after that, the men started suggesting he come over and hang out with them in the afternoons and evenings. He never really recalled the meetings well, but…but he sure did enjoy himself every time. There were flickers of clarity–once when he had his cock through a hole in his fence, getting sucked off by one of the workers on the other side. He couldn’t believe what he was doing, but he also couldn’t stop, and he fell back into his smoky stupor long before he came, got down, and returned the favor.

Soon he was craving smoke, but for some reason none of the men would let him smoke anything of theirs–all he could do was suck their second hand smoke from their mouths. It was not long after that, when the owner came knocking on Charles’s door. Charles was in the middle of a terrible week–he’d…simply forgotten to go to work for a few days, and his boss had called and informed him he’d been fired. The owner had heard of his troubles, and had come by to offer him some relief. He had a perfect job for him, he said–all Charles had to do was give him the deed to his property.

Charles refused at first–he loved his home. But when the owner laid out a pipe, a cigar, and a pack of cigarettes, and offered him one of those in addition to the job…he couldn’t stop himself. He grabbed the pipe, packed it and lit it like he’d watched the crew do countless time, and sucked down the smoke, feeling his entire body heating up, from his toes to his gut to his hands…and in a matter of moments, a very, very different man was standing there, chuffing on his pipe.

“What do you think Chuck? Think we can have this house torn out in a week?”

“W-What? I…I don’t…” Chuck looked down at his body, his full gut coated in a riot of tattoos–at least what he could see around his long thick beard, “I…where am I?”

“You’re a member of my crew Chuck. We’re looking at this house I just bought. I want to tear it down and add it to my property next door.”

“O-Oh…I…I guess me ‘n the crew could do it…”

“That’s what I like to hear–now you fat pig, bend over–I wanna fuck your nasty hole.”

Chuck was all to happy to oblige, letting his owner fuck him bent over the side of the couch, and then he went back and joined the rest of his crew. He was welcomed like an old friend, and all of them wanted a taste of Chuck’s new, eight inch cock, and a chance to admire his new, beautiful body; just like the bodies the owner had all given them over the years.

Going to college in a small rural town didn’t exactly have many perks, unless you liked cows. and farming. You liked your school, sure, but there wasn’t much to do, which is how you found yourself at the State Fair in October, killing a Saturday when you’d rather be partying in the city with friends. The place was full of hicks, and it was a bit disgusting to be honest. You’d kind of been hoping to spy on some hot cowboy butt, but there was more plumber’s crack than anything else. You’d been closeted since you got here–it didn’t really seem like a good place to be gay.

It was early afternoon when you started to get hungry–that was when you spotted the oddest sign–an “All You Will Eat Buffet”. What the hell did that even mean? You went in, and a big bubba welcomed you–and before you could get any information about the place, he had you seated on a bench, and a big plate of food set down in front of you.

“I–wait, I didn’t order this?” You yelled after him.

The man laughed. “Don’t matter! You will eat it all up, won’t you?”

The words were like magic–you started shoveling the fried food into your mouth as fast as you could, unable to stop, terrified at the sudden compulsion overwhelming you. You finished the first plate, and second one was immediately set down on top of it.

“There you go. You’ll eat that too, won’t ya? Yeah, that’s nice. I don’t get skinny college kids in here too often, but yer always fun–I think you will be eatin’ a whole lot today, don’t you?”

Plate after plate came, and you couldn’t stop yourself. The afternoon, and when you got too tired and full to continue, the bubba would be there, massaging your growing gut, and whispering in your ear. Calling you a pig. Calling you a slob. Calling you a hick. Calling you stupid and gluttonous and horny. Soon, you were demanding more food, eating as fast as you could, reveling in your own gluttony, and when the bubba mentioned that you will be sucking the cum from his balls along with dessert, you were only to happy to swallow his thick cock down too.

It’s night now, and the buffet’s closed for the day. You stumble, impossibly full, weighing at least 400 pounds. You aren’t a college student anymore–just a fat ass trucker pig, begging for cock whenever you can get it. But you think you’ll be hanging around here for another day or two–that’s the best buffet you’ve ever seen, and that bubba back there was already mentioning how much you will eat tomorrow.

Requested by @andyreworld.

WARNING: SCAT AHEAD

Kyle liked going to the gym in the mid-morning–everyone who got a workout in before work had left, and everyone who came around lunchtime wasn’t there yet–it gave him a good hour and half with most of the weights to himself, to focus on lifting. He’d sure been working out long enough to learn patterns like this, he’d been a gym rat for years, and maintained a near flawless physique–low body fat and ripped with muscle. Still, he wasn’t a far of people–especially fags–staring at his body, unless he wanted them staring, so he preferred off-hours. Usually he had peace, but, today, some fat fuck was crowding his space.

He’d seen him around the gym before, but Kyle didn’t usually care about what other people were doing, and if he wanted to work out, good for him. But it seemed like every time he turned around, the guy was within five feet of him, lifting something, or on the next machine over–and then the first one came, loud enough that Kyle could hear it over his music, a massive, horrific fart that lasted at least five seconds.

He looked over at the pig, disgusted, but the guy just leered back at him–and then Kyle smelt it–it was horrific, one of the worst things he’d ever smelt in his life. It was so strong that it was almost like his mind and body blew a fuse–he couldn’t move, he couldn’t think–his eyes went glassy, his jaw gaping as the pig got up, pulled the headphones from his head, leaned in and whispered in his ear, “Finally got you. Come on, you’re gonna spot me today.”

Kyle did as he was told, even though he fought the compulsion as best he could, but his body wasn’t his anymore. The smell lingered in his nose, and just as he’d start shaking the pig’s control off, the fat fuck would nearly shit his pants again, and he’d…lose it all over again. The pig kept talking to him while he lifted, telling Kyle how much he loved the smell of him, how much he loved his farts, how much he loved submitting. Soon, as much as he hated himself for it, he started craving it, the smell, the filthy thoughts his master whispered in his ear. Finally, he couldn’t resist it anymore–his master was doing squats, and let a huge fart loose, and something in Kyle broke. Snorting and grunting, he got down behind him, shoved his head to the man’s ass and started crewing at his shorts, cum spewing in his jockstrap.

“That’s a good pig–I think you’re ready for your post-workout meal, don’t you?”

Kyle didn’t know what he meant, but he crawled after his master, who went into the locker room, commandeered the large stall, and sat backwards, his hole right in Kyle’s face. He fought as hard as he could, hesitating, but a wet fart pulled him in, lips locked to his master’s hole, tongue burrowing in, ready and eager for his first feeding.

Requested by Anonymous

He’d thought this would be a shortcut, cutting through the fields on his way back home, but Mitchell had underestimated the distance and gotten a bit turned around in a stand of trees. Now he wasn’t quite sure where he was, but he could see a few buildings in the near distance–a farm house and a long, low barn. If he could get back to a road, he could at least reorient himself, even if he was technically trespassing.

He got closer to the barn, and he started to smell something–whatever it was, it smelled like food, and he hadn’t eaten in a few hours–it was making his stomach grumble. Curious to see what someone could be cooking in a barn that smelled so damn good, he crept around and found a door, and inside he found a bunch of machinery pumping some kind of strange slop into a a huge trough lining one wall, and in the dim light it looked like a bunch of pigs were feeding at it. His curiosity sated, he tried to turn around, but his feet instead carried him closer. The smell was intense, and his hunger was only growing. Without really knowing why, he found himself on his hands and knees at the trough, drool following through his beard, eyes vacant, and he shoved his face into the slop.

He tried to resist for a while. The slop didn’t taste very good, but something about it made him feel good, and warm…and horny. The first orgasm caught him by surprise, filling the front of his jeans without him even touching his cock–and not long after that he didn’t even want to stop anymore. He kept eating until the machine finally shut off, and he and the rest of the pigs all finished off the slop, licking the metal clean before he could finally pull himself away.

He looked down at himself, unable to believe what he was seeing. He must have gained fifty pounds in a few hours, all of it in his gut! He looked around at the pigs, and saw all of them were forming a large mass, heaving piles of flab, all of them grunting and squealing–but they weren’t pigs at all. They were all men! massively obese men, their eyes blank, sucking at each other’s holes and cocks. He had to get out of here, but he was so full he could barely stand up–and he didn’t really want to leave. He just kind of stayed there, watching the pigs fuck…and kind of wanting to join them. he didn’t even notice the obese redneck walk in, wearing just a pair of overalls.

“Well well! Looks like another little piggy wandered on in here when I wasn’t lookin’!”

Mitchell managed to pry his eyes away, but there was nothing he could do as the man walked over, started ripping away his over stretched clothes, and putting a leather collar on him.

“Bit too small though–gonna have tah give ya a boost so ya can catch up with the rest a the litter, ya runt!” the redneck said, and led Mitchell over to one end of the trough, shoved a tube down his throat, secured it with a mask, and then turned the machine back on–slop pumping it’s way right into his gut.

“That’s better, ya’ll be as big and stupid as the rest a the swine in no time!” he said, “Still, gotta try out yer hole, right?” He dropped his overalls, slipped his cock into Mitchell’s ass, but the new pig was already too stupid to do anything but buck back, and spray another load of cum across the barn floor.

None of them had noticed anything yet. I wasn’t sure if any of them would notice the spell at all. Still, it was working, that much was certain. All of them had been massively muscled just a few hours ago, hairy, oozing masculinity. Already they were starting to pudge up, their body hair becoming thinner, their facial hair disappearing bit by bit. It was hard to tell whether they were becoming a bit more flirty because they were a bit drunk, or because the next part of the spell was taking affect. Serves those fucking jocks right, though–this will teach them to pick on fat guys like me. They’re all going to be fat cockwhores by the end of the night.

Fuck, it sure is working, you should see the four of them! None of them is less than 300 pounds at this point, and all of them are obsessing with the guys around here, flirting with them, unable to peel their eyes away from the men’s crotches, even as their own cock’s shrivel up into nothing. This sort of shit would have gotten me pummeled into a pulp, but none of the guys here mind–the spell makes anyone the four of them take a liking to into a big, hairy brute who will give their holes a good reaming. Joey keeps looking at me, in particular, and fuck, it’s making me a bit horny. He can’t stop himself, and he knows it–I can see the terror in his eyes even as he licks his fat lips.

Yeah fucker, that’s fuckin’ right, who’s in charge now, huh! Who’s on top now? Yeah, I wanna year ya fuckin’ squeal, squeal like a pig!

Oh god oh god, wha happened tha me? I ain’t, this ain’t right! Where’d all this fuckin’ hair come from, ‘n why’s it so hard tah fuckin’ think all a sudden? The…spell? Fuck, I fucked Joey, ‘n this is what that made me? Got a damn good cock though, feels real nice. Bet…Bet it’d feel nicer in that other pig’s hole though, now that other guy’s done plowin’ him. Yeah, think I’d better give him a good fuck too, can’t fuck enough pigs after all, fuck yeah…

Source: huskyishusky