Warren’s Demons (Patreon Suggestion)

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I bet he won’t even recognize you, you fucking pig.

Warren got off the train, feeling his body shaking and quaking with each step down to the platform–and all he wished was that it didn’t feel…so fucking good, all of the time.

You love it piggy, you can admit it. You couldn’t stop now, even if I hadn’t made myself such a cozy nest in your little soul.

His cock had been rock hard the entire train ride, just from squeezing into the small seat with the older man beside him, knowing he was taking up too much room, that the man was disgusted by him–all he’d been able to do, or all the demon had allowed him to do, was take six trips to the bistro car, where he’d stuff himself, and then go to the bathroom to jack his cock, before returning to his seat, sweatier and heaving for breath, before the whole cycle would repeat itself. It was a nightmare, but it was no longer anything new for him.

He hadn’t always been this large–375 pounds when he’d last weighed himself, or when he’d last been forced to weigh himself. He could barely believe that just four months earlier, he’d been 160 pounds, a normal, healthy college student. He still didn’t know how it had happened, but one morning a few months before, he’d woken up in his dorm room, as usual, and there…had been a voice in his head. He’d known that it wasn’t his own, but he found himself helpless against it–if the voice told him to do something, then he would obey–and from that day forth, all the voice wanted him to do was eat. At first, if he fought, he’d be able to resist and go to class or go to the gym, but as the voice promised, these moments of rebellion were always repaid with substantial punishment. Warren, who had always been straight, found himself hungry for cock as much as he was for food. He was forced into humiliatingly ill-fitting clothes, his growing gut dropping lower and lower below the bottom of his shirt–for he was packing on pounds faster than should be humanly possible.

But now, the moment he’d been dreading most was here–he was home for the summer, where he’d be living with his dad for the next three months, and if there was one thing his father had always hated, it was fat fucks like his son had become.

I bet, when he finally does recognize you, he’s going to hate you so much. He’s going to be so disgusted by you, you won’t even be able to stop yourself from cumming in the front of those tight shorts you’re wearing…and you’re going to make sure he knows what his piggy son just did, too, aren’t you?

It wasn’t even speaking in orders or demands anymore–just the mere suggestion was enough to fill Warren’s mind with the most perverse of fantasies. Sure enough, once he’d gotten into the station with his bag, he’d seen his muscular father waiting for his slim, handsome son. Warren walked right in front of him, and he didn’t give him a second look. “Hey dad, ready to get going?” he asked, mouth a bit dry in anticipation.

The look of horror on his father’s face, at seeing his son was now over twice the size he should have been, was–true to the demon’s word–humiliating, and yet so satisfying. With a nice, loud groan, he shot a load of cum into his shorts, and then pulled his father into a hug, grinding his soft groin against him, until his father’s recoiled away from him, unable to even form words.

Needless to say, his father was furious, yelling and shouting at him the whole way home, the demon chuckling in Warren’s mind the whole time. His father told him he was utterly disgusting, that he was a shameless display of gluttony. Warren very nearly started jacking off right there, the demon urging him gently, but only the sheer horror at his father seeing him do such a thing stayed his desperate hand. His father told him Warren was going on a diet, his father was going to be supervising every meal, and he would have his son back in shape in no time–the demon just laughed, and laughed, and laughed, because the demon had other plans, that night.

Warren, awoke shortly after midnight, feeling like he was either sleepwalking or dreaming. He’d become somewhat used to this sensation–it occurred whenever the demon took full control of his body and mind, forcing Warren to become little more than a passenger in his own flesh. It happened rarely now, usually only when Warren needed severe punishment, and he began to worry.

Oh Piggy, you still think this is about you, don’t you? No–you have your father to blame for this. All of it. You were merely the first piece of a larger puzzle. Don’t worry, you’ll very much enjoy what comes next. This is going to be the summer of your piggy dreams.

The demon guided his body into his father’s room, far more stealthily and gently than his massive frame should have been capable of, and…he didn’t remember the details of what came next. He spoke these strange words in a language that seemed…impossibly complex, the words so hot they singed his lips. He swore he saw…something slip into his father’s body, causing him to stir–and then his dad got up from his bed, gave Warren a wink, got dressed and left the house, driving away in the middle of the night. Whatever it was, the demon was happy–he allowed Warren to gorge himself on whatever he could find in the house, and then Warren passed out on the couch, snoring away, until the slamming of a door, woke him with a start.

“SSoooeeeyy! Where’s my little piggy boy?”

It was his father’s voice, but it was not his father speaking. Warren only had time to heave himself up from the couch, before his father was in the room, bearing a pile of pizzas and at least ten bags from fast food joints around the city. That wasn’t the only thing different, either. He’d left the house in fairly normal clothes, but was now dressed head to toe in leather, his hair cropped short, stubble across his face, his eyes both excited and terrified. He knew that look–he’d seen it in his own eyes many times in the last few months. His father was possessed, just like him.

Yes, the deal required a friend of mine from far below. Quite sadistic and lustful, but with a gluttonous side as well. You’ll be enjoying him a lot, I promise.

His father dropped the food onto the coffee table, shoved Warren back onto the couch, and started ripping and tearing off his tight clothes until his son was naked, and then his possessed father began making out with him–kissing him, worshiping his fat body.

Yeah, look at that sick fuck–look how much he loves you now. How much he needs your fat by him. Piggy–your new daddy here is going to make sure you have everything you need from now on. Plenty of rough fucks and long feeding sessions, and loads and loads of cum for your thirsty piggy throat. We’ll feed him too–you’ll like that, won’t you? Stuffing your skinny father’s face until he’s the size you are now? Of course, by then, you’ll be well on your way to at least 700–but that excites you, doesn’t it? It’s probably all you want at this point–to be massively obese, and get fucked every day by your daddy’s big cock.

Warren had already lunged for the food, taking a hamburger for himself first, and then taking a second and shoving it in his father’s face, watching his eyes roll back in pleasure from the taste.

And when you’re both well past the point of no return? Well, then we’ll have fulfilled our bargain. And you’ll never hear from me again. You won’t be able to stop, of course, so don’t imagine you could ever get your body back. But most importantly, I don’t think your father will be bothering anyone about their weight again, any time soon, do you?

Stinkers – Coach’s Senior Gifts (Part 8)

Erik…wasn’t sure he wanted to put on his old jock. He wasn’t sure he wanted to go back to being that old him. He liked this body–the fur, the stink, the power, the brutality–but he did as his coach told him to do, and pulled on the jock, being careful not to rip it on his claws. It was tight, and while it did fit–it felt weird, over his fur, like it didn’t belong on him at all. Then, he helped coach, both of them hauling the other, much tighter, jockstrap up Paul’s thick legs and thighs, getting it to settle under his gut and around his sheathed cock.

By that point, Erik had noticed that some of the changes his body had gone through were beginning to fade. His paws were becoming hands again, his claws returned to nails (though they seemed harder, and sharper, than before), and his snout was pulling back into his face. Still, not everything changed back. He kept quite a bit of the hair–in some places, it was still thick enough to completely obscure his skin–and he also didn’t lose any of his new height or mass. He didn’t have an exact measurement, but he had to guess he was close to six foot five at this point, and he probably weighed in at over 300 pounds of fat and muscle. In a locker room mirror, he looked at his face–which was mostly the same, aside from the much thicker beard, and the thick head of brown hair he had…but it didn’t feel like his face. It felt like a mask. Underneath…he was still the bear, still that monster. He hadn’t changed back, so much as covered his new self up with the skin of his old body. He peeked into the pouch of the jock, and sure enough, nothing in there had changed at all–his skin just as hairy, his cock still…inhuman. It made him feel at ease, seeing that.

Paul gave a groan, and rolled over. The orgasm had been so powerful, that he hadn’t really been able to focus on, or do, much of anything as long as it had lasted, and it had lasted close to twenty minutes. He’d been able to feel Coach and Erik moving him around, and even felt the two of them forcing some tight jock onto him in his stupor, but he hadn’t been able to do anything to help them, or stop them. Now, however, he was able to at least roll up, and see that whatever strange body he’d had had also faded away somewhat. Like Erik, the obvious animal traits–the snout, the ears, the trotters, the tusks–had all disappeared for the most part–though his incisors were still peeking out over his lip, he was still massively fat, and his skin still felt so rough and thick, like before. Paul peeked in the pouch of his own jock, and saw that his strange cock had slipped back into its sheath, his massive balls still churning below, and just the sight of it made him get a bit horny all over again.

Coach explained the rules of their new bodies to them both, while Sponge worked behind them, scouring the floor for any drop of moisture and filth it might have missed earlier. If they had their old jocks on, both of them would be…mostly human. But when the jocks came off, they’d be themselves again in a few minutes, proper sexy beasts. The jocks wouldn’t rip, and they wouldn’t age, so both of them wouldn’t have to worry about destroying them, but if they were ever washed, their old selves would be washed away too, and they’d be trapped in their real, bestial forms forever. Should that ever occur, the coach advised that their best bet, would be to go live in the woods somewhere.

Paul was only half listening at this point–the powerful musk coming from beneath erik’s pouch had drawn him back, and he was sucking at the bear’s cock while coach kept talking, groping his own piggy cock through the mesh. “I should also mention, that since you two…transitioned together, you’re going to have a fairly strong bond for quite a while, as you can see. I don’t think you’ll mind, however. And if you need to let loose with someone else, well, you always have me and Sponge, as well as a few other choice alumni I can put you both in contact with.”

Erik and Paul were more than happy with one another, however, though no one else at the school could figure out why, one day, two straight football players had simply gone gay for one another…or why the two of them stank so much…or any of the other oddities of their new bodies. Their musk, even with their human skins on, was so powerful that few people could stand to sit anywhere near them, and when they were together…well, it wasn’t long before they were in the rest room, banging each other’s brains out. They each decided that they couldn’t do the college thing, not like this, and instead they got jobs out of school with a few of Coach’s contacts in the Stinker network. It was a few years until they were able to afford a cabin up in the mountains, but no one saw much of either of them from that point on, and anyone who coach sent to pay them a visit seemed to disappear as well.

Sponge, on the other hand, never left the locker room again. Coach introduced all of his teams to the dummy the next week, and soon, they were all happily using the thing as their cum dump and urinal. After a few months, the thing was utterly sodden, and was having a hard time keeping all of its moisture in. By the end of the school year, it had passed capacity, and constantly wept filth which it tried to wick back into itself. Coach let it dry out a bit over the summer, alone, and it served the teams well over the next decade, before it finally started to rot dissolve away. Coach salvaged the jersey for his personal collection, sold off the rubber head to a collector, and looked forward to the day he’d find another one like Anton. They were, after all, his favorites, and he knew just how to treat them right.

Stinkers – Coach’s Senior Gifts (Part 7)

Robinson was pleased to see that the two beasts had become so well acquainted with their new bodies, and with each other, while he’d been tending to Anton. Usually, when he did this to his players, it took a bit of coaxing from him before they sank as deep as this. The echos of the two were loud in the tiled room, and the stench of their filth was…heady and intoxicating. Despite the fact that Robinson had cum less than a minute prior, he was already excited again–but he could wait a moment longer. He dropped Sponge, his newest dummy, to the ground, where it bounced slightly, the helmet rattling against the floor. It tried to sit up, but it still wasn’t quite familiar enough with it’s new form to really understand that it no longer needed to try and move like a human. Still, it was close enough to the two rutting beasts that it could sense filth. It flipped over and started crawling over towards them, the mouthhose dragging on the ground. Erik saw it, and while his eyes were a bit puzzled, he didn’t stop fucking Paul’s hole deep. The boar, on the other hand, didn’t realize they’d been joined by something else until Sponge started forcing itself between his huge belly and the floor, Sponge feeling it’s body flatten under the weight of the animal above him, spreading wider, soaking up all of the cum and sweat that had dripped from the two of them over the last several minutes. The one part of Sponge that wasn’t at all flexible was it’s head, and that ended up in the larger gap between Paul’s thighs, the pig now driving it’s cock into the cushiony mesh of the Sponge’s jersey, and the dummy just stayed there–the puddle soaking up into its body, the pig rutting against it, leaking more cum on top of it. Here, it would be properly used, like it was supposed to be.

Robinson watched Sponge settle in, and then walked around in front of Paul, where Sponge’s feet were sticking out, and ran his hands over the boar’s face–feeling the rough skin, tugging at the floppy ears, examining the tusks and the nose. “What a nice boar you made, Paul, simply handsome–and stinking as–fuck, nothing smells quite a good as nice boar. Open up piggy, Coach wants to spit roast this hog.”

Paul was all too happy to have another cock inside him, and started slobbering all over his coach’s knob. It was hardly the first time he’d tasted it, but the smell and taste of the rank meat was so much more intense than before, and so much more pleasing. Paul had always hated the taste, but now, he couldn’t get enough of it, taking it to the hilt, grunting and snorting, bucking back to meet Erik’s thrusts, and an intense pressure built up in his groin. His nuts constricted, and he started pumping his load all over Sponge beneath him–soaking the jersey with even more of his seed, which the dummy was all too happy to store for him.

Coach could see Erik growing closer as well, and he left Paul to his massive orgasm, straddled the boar’s body, and pulled himself close to Erik. “Shame you weren’t born one of us–you should have been. You would’ve been an amazing Stinker. I can at least give you this though, you fucking monster. Now come on, cum in this fucking pig, I wanna see you breed his fucking hole, Bear.”

He grabbed Erik by the fur on his cheeks, and pulled him into a kiss, shoving his tongue between his sharp fangs, tasting one another’s rank breath, and with a muffled roar, he came, flooding the pig with his cum, his snout never leaving the coach’s mouth. Robinson pushed Erik away from Paul for a moment, his cock popping free, and he grabbed the end of Sponge’s tube, and pressed it over the pig’s asshole, as Erik’s cum was about to come spurting back out. Sponge tasted the vile filth pouring into him, and began shuddering and shivering beneath Paul–who was still in the throes of a massive orgasm, his entire weight pinning Sponge to the floor, where all it could do was wiggle.

“Fuck…oh fuck, what the fuck did you do to me?” Erik asked, looking down at himself, at his strange new body. He looked more bear than human at this point–but what in the world was he supposed to do? Go out and live in the forest? He stared at Coach, but the older man seemed to sense his worry.

“Look, hold this tube for me, and I’ll ease some of your worry, alright?”

Erik nodded, and walked over. It was hard to grip the tube with his strange hands, but he managed. Coach went back to a locker, and pulled out a jockstrap from a bag, sniffed it to double check he had the right one, and tossed it to the bear. Erik smelled it too, and knew the smell immediately. It was his–the jock he’d worn with Coach all these years. “Will this…change me back?” he asked.

“You’ll see–I’ll explain everything in a moment. But first, help me with this pig–he’s fucking heavy, and I’d like Sponge to not be a pancake.”

“Is…is that Anton in that gear?”

“It was Anton, yes. But Anton doesn’t exist anymore–that thing barely has a mind at all. It’s just a dummy now–all foam, through and through. It’s only desire is to be used for sex, and to store men’s filth inside it’s body. It takes a special kind of man to make one, and Anton, well, he was a rare bird. I’ll be enjoying him for a while–and you can always use it, whenever you visit. Too bad they don’t last longer–the will holding what remains of his spirit to the thing usually fades away after six or seven years, and it’s not too long after that that the thing will start to rot from the inside out–but the stench of that! Fuck, it’s crazy, I tell you.”

Suddenly Erik was no longer jealous for not being chosen for the coach’s special treatment. Clearly, of the three of them, he had gotten the best gift he could have imagined. Coach waved the bear over, and together they rolled the grunting and moaning hog off of Sponge, who crawled back onto the pig’s leaking cock and kept rubbing the remaining cum onto its body, until Coach shoved it off and away.

“Now, put that jock on, and then help me get Paul’s on too.”

Stinkers – Coach’s Senior Gifts (Part 5)

Erik wasn’t sure if Paul was trying to push him off, or was merely pushing up against him. Either would have been fine with him–after all, whether his teammate was enjoying what was happening to him or not, it was happening to them both. He would either enjoy it or not–whichever it was, it was likely that Paul had no control over his own feelings, or his own body, or his own destiny, at this point. Erik had long since given up any sort of belief that he might become anything other than what his coach wanted–and indeed, had begun to relish everything Coach Robinson had chosen to do to him.

The hair which had sprouted from the jockstrap was slowly eating away the very mesh of the pouch, and after a few minutes, he felt his cock flop out, and his balls as well. Reaching down with a hand, he felt them, giving the musky shaft a good stroke–it was longer than it had been before, and shaped…slightly different. His balls were fuller as well, and coated in fur. His belly and the front of his legs were becoming covered now, and his previous flat stomach was beginning to round out, as a small, hard gut formed over his abs, but the rest of his muscles were heating up, and expanding. The heat was even penetrating his bones, making them lengthen as well–it was painful, but…worth it. Worth it, if he could become what his coach wanted, even if that meant he couldn’t be as special as Anton–it wasn’t up to him, though this thought did little to curb his disappointment.

Instead, he took that anger out on Paul, beneath him, pinning him to the concrete, grinding their crotches together, snarling and growling at him with his bearish muzzle, licking his lips over foul teeth, leering down at the boar beneath. He’d hoped that Paul would hate this, that this would be torture, or punishment, but after his initial hesitation, he was grinding back, rearing up to meet Erik’s face and mash their snouts together in strange, unfamiliar kisses.

Paul’s own jock was undergoing changes that were quite different from Erik’s. The pouch had dried out and hardened, but rather than become solid and brittle, it had become leather–or perhaps a better word would be hide. It had covered his cock and balls for now, making them disappear, but it was clear that something was happening beneath it. Paul could…feel his cock, working hard to push it’s way back out, and with a painful tear, the hide broke towards the top, and a strange, pink cock pushed it’s way out, like a drill emerging from the earth. Even the head was corkscrew shaped, and covered in a foul smelling slime. The base of the hide began to distend now, as his new balls descended. True to his new form, they were heavy and large, hanging low against his thighs. Done with his crotch, the rest of his skin began to change now as well, becoming the same leathery hide as the jock had become, though some areas turned quite a bit darker than others. What emerged was a piebald pattern–much of his skin was the same light pink as before, but large spots of deep brown had filled in as well. With a grumble in his gut, fat began to pile on his body–far more than Erik, though Paul got a fair share of muscle as well. His tits swelled in particular, which Erik began groping roughly in his hands, other nipples sprouting down the front of him, swelling to the size of thumbs.

Paul slid down, underneath Erik, searching for his new cock amidst the hair coating his body. It was rank and matted, dripping sweat on his face, which his tongue happily lapped up between grunts and squeals. Erik found the boar’s mouth first, driving in, filling his snout and touching the back of his throat. The changes had covered their torsos and most of their legs, and were now progressing down their arms, and up their necks to their new faces. Erik’s ears shifted up to the top of his head, as hair filled in all over his face–Paul’s ears also shifted to the top of his skull, but grew out and flattened, the edges cracked slightly, his eyes shrinking and setting back a bit deeper into his skull. The hair on the top of his head fell out, but long bristle sprouted all along his back and neck, but left his underbelly barren and rough. Erik’s hands gripped Paul’s head, his nails thickening and darkening into long claws. He dug in–enough to hurt and perhaps scratch, but not enough to truly make the boar bleed–and began slamming his cock in deeper, as deep as it could go, Paul hungry for cum, hungry for piss, desperate for anything wet.

The bear man finally rolled the boar over, tugging at the curly tail which had sprouted above Paul’s ass, and reached back to feel his own, stubby and furry one behind him. He ate out the pig’s hole for a bit, tasting the rank sweat and dirt, before sliding his cock into the hilt, Paul letting off a loud squeal–likely loud enough to be heard in the school proper, though at this time, the only people around were the janitors, who knew better than to disturb Coach Robinson’s time with his athletes. Paul groped around underneath his flabby body, looking for his cock–which he managed to grab hold of eventually. It wasn’t easy gripping it–his fingers had fused together into semi-worthless trotters, but the rough hoof against his slimy cock only made his squeal more, his balls pumping out a massive puddle of precum, which his belly slid around on. With a growl, Erik planted his hairy, wider and clawed feet on the tile, gripped the pig’s hips tight in his claws, and kept fucking. Their humanity seemed so distant now–more like a dream, some strange fancy their animal minds might have invented–but this…this is who they were now, and neither of them was sure they’d go back, even if they could.

Hypno Test Subject

“Look…I just thought you might be interested in it, because you seem like someone hypnosis could really help. A bit more confidence, a little more focus. Maybe even help you with weight loss, of you like it…”

Jerry grimaced at that–sure, he was…fat, but it wasn’t something he liked people mentioning. He looked over at Oliver, his roommate. He’d been working on a project for some strange neuroscience class or something, developing a serum which could induce a powerful hypnotic state. He said it had already been tested in some animals, and was getting ready for human trials, but he was excited to see if it would work, and had asked Jerry if he’d be a willing, and secret, subject.

Jerry eventually agreed, mostly because he wasn’t very good at saying no to anyone, something Oliver was well aware of. His roommate was a wimp, really–chubby, nervous, a bit anti-social…but he was also kind of cute, in a hopeless way. Oliver was no looker himself, with buck teeth and his big glasses–it didn’t help that he was gay on top of that. Jerry rolled up his sleeve and let Oliver inject him with the serum, and a minute or two later, he was feeling…good. Almost like he’d started floating. Oliver was talking to him, but he wasn’t really listening…or maybe he was listening so hard he just couldn’t quite hear anything. Jerry realized he was talking back on occasion too…but mostly, everything just felt…nice, and he barely noticed the hours passing him by.

*~*~*

“Now, tell me what you are,” Oliver asked. The session had gone on for a couple of hours at this point, and he was feeling good about where Jerry was going–with who he was becoming.

“I’m a fat, worthless, faggot pigslave. Your pigslave, sir,” Jerry droned back at him. He was naked at this point, on his knees in front of Oliver. All he had on was a loose collar and leather manacles on his wrists and ankles.

“That’s good. Very good pig,” Oliver said, stroking his own cock in excitement. “What do you want, more than anything, pig?”

“My master’s cum and piss…his sweat…anything you’re willing to give a worthless pig like me, sir.” Jerry’s eyes looked up at Oliver–still not seeing much with any clarity, but he smiled anyway at him.

Oliver ruffled his new pig’s hair–he was going to need a shave tonight, after his first fuck. And then, Jerry wouldn’t be leaving the room for the rest of the semester. Pigs, after all, didn’t go to class. Pigs didn’t think. Pigs just obeyed, and they ate, and they got fatter and stupider for their masters. He’d be lonely for a while, but in a week or two, Oliver would put one or two of his jock bullies under as well. Then he’d have a nice piggy harem. Maybe Jerry would even be top hog, feeding those skinny jocks all day while Oliver was at class. He deserved something, for helping him out like this with his project. He stepped forward, and the pig swallowed down his master’s cock for the first time with a snort, and Oliver knew his days as a virgin were over for good.

Stinkers – Coach’s Senior Gifts (Part 3)

Out in the locker room, Erik and Paul had both spent the last ten minutes becoming acquainted with their gifts. Even though they were only a few feet away from one another, they had nearly forgotten about the other’s existence, and the locker room entirely. The jocks…the scent imbedded within them (or the scents they were made out of–it was difficult to know, exactly, what this gear was) was incredibly powerful and overwhelming, but not by force–it was the nuance and the detail which had absorbed the attention of the two jocks so intently.

For Erik, the scent wasn’t only musk, though it was plenty heady. There was also loam, and tinges of evergreen. The chill of a cave, or perhaps a den. Smelling it made him feel both…sleepy, and yet also incredibly powerful, like a boulder at the top of a spruce covered mountain, waiting for a single tap, to send it careening down the slope, flattening anything in it’s path. There was the sweetness of fresh berries, and the pungent rot of raw fish in the sun, the taste of iron and blood in the back of his throat. He was gnashing at the jock now, filling it with spit, and then sucking it down his throat, tasting everything more intensely by the moment.

Paul had begun on the bench, but at some point, had fallen off and onto the concrete floor, where he was rolling about, the jock almost draped over his face, as he snorted at it, grunting, grinding his crotch against the rough concrete. His jock smelled of food–fat and sugar and grains, fermented slightly and beginning to foam. There was mud and dust as well; the jock was incredibly dry, and seemed to be sucking the moisture from him, almost pulling at his face, in some strange way he couldn’t quite explain, even to himself. He felt lazy. He felt like he never wanted to stand upright again, if he could help it. He felt hungry, and thirsty, and as horny as could be. But in his rutting on the ground, the jock came loose from around his head, and without it, he felt a bit of clarity and focus return to him, letting him sit up and stare around him, blinking.

It was a familiar confusion. Every meeting of his with the coach left him in a similar state–exhausted, confused, mortified at what he’d just done, and certain that–if he could–he’d just climb into bed and sleep for days, and days, and days…but he should keep…smelling it, right? Coach would want him to keep smelling it. He grabbed the jock in a hand, but kept it from his face–and took a moment to look over at Erik, where he was huffing his own jock on the bench.

Where Paul was an offensive lineman–wide and thick and designed to be a wall–Erik was a running back–all muscle, lean, and ready to charge into, and run over, anything or anyone in his path. His teammate had almost the entire jock stuffed in his mouth, where he was almost…chewing on it, rolling it over in his mouth, but this gave Paul a clear view of the fact that Erik’s mouth…it wasn’t quite human any longer. The more he gnashed at the wad in his mouth, the more his mouth and nose seemed to extend, pushing out into a thick, short snout. His beard was filling in thick, turning a dark brown, while his nose flattened and widened, turning black. The changes were spreading down his throat and over the rest of his face–especially the thick pelt of brown hair, and Paul–with his free hand–gingerly touched his own face, recalling the strange sensation of pulling he’d felt earlier.

It wasn’t right. It wasn’t human. He too, had a snout–perhaps slightly longer than Erik’s now was, but not nearly as hairy. His nose was flat, dry, and he could feel wrinkles along the side, with two open nostrils, making him snort slightly with each breath…and he had tusks jutting out from his lower jaw, out of his mouth by an inch or so on each side. He looked down at the jock in his hand, feeling it, wondering what in the world coach Robinson was doing to them both. Wondering what they were becoming.

Erik gagged, and with a hack, threw up the jock he’d nearly swallowed into his hand. It was soaked with spit, and Erik’s face looked more like a grizzly bear than human. He looked over at Paul, where he was sitting on the floor–trying to understand why Paul had put on a pig mask of some sort…only to realize that it wasn’t a mask at all.

“We…we have to stop,” Paul said, “I don’t want to do this anymore, I never wanted to do this.”

“Yeah, that’s because you’re a stupid pig,” Erik said, standing up, unwringing the jock, and pulling it on, “I can’t fucking believe I wasn’t the only one. I can’t believe–fucking Anton. But fuck, I feel fucking good, and I’m going to feel better, soon enough.”

“Erik, we have to get help, we have to tell someone.”

Erik just looked at him, and laughed a bit. “If you’re so scared, then why’s the jock around that bulge of yours?”

Paul looked at Erik, and then looked down. Without even realizing it, he’d pulled the jock on, where the pouch had settled around his crotch. It felt…warm. Comfortable. He was horny, but also…kind of sleepy. Lethargic. He tried to get up, using the bench beside him, but couldn’t quite manage to get his feet under him. He was just so…heavy, all of a sudden. He could see Erik’s jock was beginning to sprout hair, like his saliva had been enough to make it germinate. His own pouch seemed to be drying out, darkening, becoming almost skin colored, though slightly darker than Paul’s own flesh. Erik got down on his hands and knees, on top of Paul, and pushed his muzzle to Paul’s snout, each smelling the other’s breath, the strange animal musk they’d begun to produce, and the world began to fade away again for them both.

Every Pig in His Place (2 of 2)

My personal life started to suffer. I couldn’t get any work done, normal clothes no longer felt normal. Friends who had known me for years couldn’t even recognize me, passing them in the street. I wasn’t even sure I knew who I was anymore. Membership in our little club swelled and diminished over the weeks, and I found myself in a new role–now I was the person looking for a place there, now I was the one looking to stay, and these new men joining us, thinking they could just fly forever. Now I was the one smiling at them, knowing how fucking wrong they were too, how wrong I’d been myself.

Every night now, I went straight to the bar. It was the only place I felt alive anymore, the only place where I felt like I belonged/ I’d stopped looking at myself in mirrors months ago, whenever possible…after the tattoos had started to appear, after I couldn’t even see anything human in my eyes any longer. I started dressing in rubber, preferably with a mask. I felt more comfortable that way, without a face, without a name. In the bar, I was just an object–I’d gone from a big dicked fucker to a servicer. Drinking cum and piss, everyone helping themselves to my holes whenever they wanted me. I got to know the man I’d seen that first night, watching me–that, was Rod. The owner, the ringmaster, the warden. He never used me, but he did watch me, and every night, he’d take the pleasure of 86-ing me onto the street, personally, telling me I couldn’t stay, that I still wasn’t ready!

And I would slink back out, sucking as much cock on the way out as I could, thrown back up into the air from the pond again, but I was losing momentum fast. So one night, I found Rod first, and I begged him. I begged him to find a place for me, to let me stay, that I couldn’t live out there anymore, that I didn’t belong out there–I belonged here now, and he knew it as well as I did. So he found a place for me alright–right here, where I’ve been for…well, a good long time.

I tried to deny it, I tried to take it back. I wasn’t supposed to be here, in the bathroom, I wasn’t a toilet…was I? He had to chain me down for a while, keep me in place, until I understood, until I felt it in my bones. Until the time he let me try to leave, and the thought of leaving…terrified me. I wasn’t worthy of leaving, this is where I belong–and it’s where you belong too. Yeah, you can struggle against those chains all you want, but they aren’t what’s really keeping you here–it’s you, pig. It’s who you are. Who we both are. Don’t worry, we’ll have lots of fun together. It’s been lonely, all by myself, and Rod promised me I’d have a friend soon…and now I do! I have you.

Porn Stash

Jeff and his two friends had decided to spend the weekend hunting up at his uncle’s cabin, and that night after dinner, as the three guys were lounging around on the way to getting drunk, they started arguing over what movie to watch on his uncle’s DVD player–since there was no TV reception. Jeff was the one who found the unmarked box with the disc inside–they’d all been curious, so he popped it into the machine, and it had started playing.

Much to their surprise, it was porn. It was faggot porn. Three burly guys were going at it together in a cabin…kind of similar to their own. They were older fellows, all of them with beards tinged with grey and white, smoking cigars and pipes, and having, apparently, a grand old time together. Now, none of the young men was gay, but they were sufficiently drunk to mostly find the situation funny, and after determining Jeff’s uncle must be a faggot (which explained why the older man’s hunting trips with his own friends never seemed very successful) they watched the video anyway, laughing at the sight…all of them massaging their cocks a bit, eyes all focused on the TV.

The first scene was short, as the three guys had a bit of fun with one another, and then a second scene started–a solo jack off session with one of the men from before, but now he was dressed in some sleazy looking biker leathers, smoking a thick cigar, and milking his cock slowly. Each time the camera zoomed in on the man’s face…Jeff was certain he was looking at someone he knew, but who? It was with some surprise that he recognized him after a couple of minutes–it was Tim. Tim–one of the two guys in that room with him. Just add twenty years to him, a bit of a gut, and lots of hair…and it was fucking Tim!

He tore his eyes away from the screen, and looked over at Tim, to see if he was right in the resemblance, but…Tim wasn’t there. Not the Tim he remembered, at least. No–the grungy biker was sitting right there, stroking his own cock and smoking that cigar, groaning and grunting as he edged his cock, watching himself on the screen. Jeff knew he needed to turn off the TV, but he had…to keep watching. His other friend, Aaron, had noticed Tim’s change as well, when another bear entered the room and started sharing smoke with the biker. This one was also from before, now dressed in leathers like Tim, and as soon as it focused on his heavily bearded face, Jeff recognized him as Aaron.

“No…No, fuck! It’s not…not me…” Aaron groaned next to him, but the voice was…so deep.

Jeff looked over, and saw Aaron changing, aging up, beard growing down to his chest, a big pipe appearing in his hand as his clothes shifted into leather, a heavily tattooed gut hanging out from his vest and over his chaps. He got up and crossed the room to Tim, and started making out with him, the room filled with as much smoke as the room in the video, and…the third man made his appearance.

He crawled into the frame, snorting and grunting. Jeff hadn’t noticed how fucking fat the man had been before, but now that he was wearing that harness, pulled tight against all that flab…he crawled over and started licking at Tim and Aaron’s boots, and one of them started pissing on the fucker’s head. Thankfully, though, he had on a hood…for a moment. The camera panned in, and the hood came off, and Jeff…Jeff saw that he was the pig. Forty years older, sure. Head shaved clean, a massive white beard stained yellow from smoke, and all…all that fat…the change was over in a few moments, and Jeff got on his hands and knees and crawled over to his two masters, to service their dirty cocks. The video ended abruptly, but the two new biker bears and their slave pig kept going all night long, all on their own–and when Jeff’s uncle showed up with some of his own dirty minded friends, the weekend only got longer.

Twelve Months ‘til Christmas (Part 10)

~~October 28th~~

He needed to do something, right? He couldn’t just…stay here. John was plowing Santapig’s ass, but the action was rote at this point. At least with his fifteen inch pig cock buried in a hole, the desperate desire to fuck receded enough to allow him a chance to think, but lately, even that was becoming difficult. The long summer days had returned to a more natural day and night cycle, and now the days were incredibly short–just a few hours at a time. His mind felt similar–John was descending below a horizon of the mind. At first, he’d worried that he’d be subsumed by “Claude”, by some personality dictated by Santapig, but the reality was turning out to be far worse. Whatever magic had restored the previous Santa’s mind, over the last month is was clearly beginning to fade. Santapig barely spoke any longer, and his appearance was devolving further, his snout and tusks longer, hide thicker, and he rarely walked on two legs any longer. This change in him had, in turned, affected his desires, and John too, was changing.

The room had no mirror, but from where he was standing he could see a transparent reflection of his head and torso in the window, and he no longer…looked particularly human. Even the features of Claude had begun to fade, and he was looking more like a stocky, brutish boar–even his hands and feet were beginning to curl up, the nails of his fingers growing back up along the fingers, threatening to become true trotters. He turned away from the window, and over to the other wall, where the urinal was…where the eggs were still growing. They hadn’t burst yet, but the outside had become translucent, and he could clearly see things squirming around inside of them. They looked like bugs of some strange variety, and given what they were coming from, he had few doubts regarding what they might do to someone they found once they hatched. He was trapped between the beast he was becoming and the strange things growing–one or the other would finish him off if he didn’t leave, but how? The door was locked, and the window didn’t open, but maybe…maybe if he wasn’t too far gone, he could still try and talk some sense into him.

It hurt to do so, but he hauled his cock free, feeling that scratching, aching voice start up in his mind again, that desperate desire to fuck, and Santapig looked over one shoulder. “Not finished–keep fucking!” he said in his guttural voice.

“No–No, we have to get out of here, we can’t stay here. We have to get out,” John said. It wasn’t the first time he’d tried to talk to the pig about this, but all signs indicated that this attempt would go as poorly as the others. Already, his hand was lining his massive cock back up with the hole, hungry to back inside him…but he fight harder, and stepped back, turning to the door, pounding on it with his fists. “Dad….Dad! Please, I know…you told me to stay, but please, you have to let me out now!” Again, this wasn’t his first attempt at rousing his father, but that too, had proven fruitless.

“Stupid boar–boar only good for fucking! Now fuck!” Santapig said, and at the words, John felt the amulet around his neck warm up again, his mind…draining further than it had already, and a stupid grin spread across his face. Yeah, he did need to fuck–what had he been thinking? But still, he hesitated, trying to grasp at the straws of his mind–but it was too long for the pig’s preferences. “I said fuck!” Santapig said, and got off the bed, stomped over, grabbed John by the shoulders and threw him at the wall beside him. He collided with it hard enough that one of the eggs hanging from the urinal snapped off, dropped to the floor and shattered. Something resembling a centipede coated in shiny black and yellow rubber uncurled itself, and began slithering it’s way across the floor towards John, who stepped away. Santapig tried to get in his path, but John just grabbed him and threw him behind him, his heart aching at what he was doing, but he…wasn’t going to become one of those things.

Santapig stumbled forward, snout open–the creature sensed him, and leapt. As he fell, the thing shoved it’s way into his mouth and down his throat, the tail in unfurling into a funnel with sharp hooks that embedded themselves around the pig’s mouth, as he struggled for air on the ground. After a minute, the creature erupted from Santapig’s asshole, swiveled for a moment, and then drove into the floor, dragging the pig down with it and anchoring it in place. The remaining changes…took several hours. The funnel began to secrete a rubber solution which began to coat the pig’s body–from the look on his face, and judging by how much cum he shot, the experience must have been…quite pleasurable, but from the outside, John could only watch on it horror as his facial features were sanded down, his back bent back at an impossible angle, arms and legs adhered to the body until all that remained was a standing toilet, ready and eager to be used. And for the first time in months, John was also alone.

His mind returned quickly, and he realized that the obvious step was to simply break the window. He did so and managed to squeeze his way out into the cold snow, before returning to the house through the back door, searching for Stanta, but the house was empty–and seemed to have been empty for quite some time. Worried that the worst might have happened, the pig crept to the workshop and investigated, and saw his father dressed as a rubber gimp, bound to the floor of the workshop, as a line of elves waited to use his mouth either as a cumdump or a urinal. The anger he felt surprised him. He hadn’t expected to ever care that much about this man, and yet…he did, and seeing him there, like that, it gave him an glimmer of an idea–but how would he even manage to do something like that?

“You must be John.”

He spun around, and found himself facing a wiry elf. He didn’t know what to say, other than stammer, but the elf calmed him.

“My name is Petey. I did some…investigating around the house, and noticed your situation. I wasn’t going to intervene unless you managed to escape. You can see that…Stanta is in a bit of a bind. It isn’t, in my opinion, the best option, but unless we can get rid of the elves supporting Lenny, it’s the situation we will have to endure. You can return to the house, if you’d like. As long as you don’t interfere, I can guarantee you a measure of safety and comfort. But if you’d like to…resolve the situation you can see in the window, we can discuss a few plans I’ve drawn up.”

“No, I have a plan. Come with me,” John said, and he led Petey back to the window, hoisted him up so he could see the remains of the room, and explained the outlines of his idea.

“Ah, yes…poetic, and feasible,” Petey said, “If you invite me in for tea, we can see about making it happen.”

Fantasy Feedback Loop (2 of 2)

When the second flash faded…he was still my dad, but fuck…he was big. He’d added close to half a foot in height, that beard of his had grown out a couple of inches and added some grey, he bulked out too, piling on muscle, thick cords of it, with a hefty, solid gut jutting out. He was, literally, the daddy of my fucking dreams, and then I looked down at myself, and saw he wasn’t the only one who had changed, this time.

Apparently, while he’d been sucking me off for the first time–or the hundredth, it was hard to remember exactly–he’d been…thinking about me, too. I’d never been a big kid, hell, was I kind of a nerd, and my father had always wanted me to jock out a bit more, follow in his footsteps…and now, I realized that I had. I wasn’t going to college anymore–I was working with him on the building crew. I wasn’t as massive as he was, of course, but I looking like a slightly smaller version of him, and fuck, if I didn’t feel sexy as fuck. I knew…that I needed to get up and turn off the generator, but what I did instead was roll over and present my boyhole for him, he lubed his cock up with some spit and slid it into me, nice and fucking deep, right where it belonged. I could smell us both, sweaty and rank from today’s work, how I’d just stared at him all day, longing for this moment, like everyday. He was rough, ramming in deep, pulling my hair, tugging my nipples, and I was enjoying it, wishing he’d be harder still…when I felt that same thrumming in the air, and another flash…

This time, I’d flipped over, and was swinging in the air, in…in our sling. Daddy was in his gear, sneering at me, my legs locked to the chains while he worked on my hole…getting ready to fist his boy into oblivion. He was just as massive as before–maybe even a bit bigger–his beard fuller and longer, and tattoos all over his arms and chest, just…just like my own. I wasn’t just his son now…I was his boy, I was his slave. He lit a cigar for himself, fed me his smoke, making me even more hungry for him, and then worked his hand into me…and fuck, if I didn’t feel just…it was fucking heaven.

He’s in me almost to my elbow now, and I can feel the energy pounding in my ears, vibrating my teeth. This is going to be a big one, and I don’t know if I’m ready for it. He’s grinning at me, and I can almost see my own, twisted reflection in his eyes, and then there’s a flash, a loud pop or explosion, and when the after image fades, he’s…huge. My…my fucking master. Eight feet tall, 500 pounds of almost pure muscle, hair coating every inch of his body. My cock drools in its cage at the sight of him, and he shoves his foot and a half inch long cock into me, nearly making me scream, but I need it. This piggy hole needs to be filled all the time now…and fuck if I’m not the happiest I can ever remember being. I can see the smoking ruins of the fantasy generator on my dresser, and I know I’ll never be going back, but why would I fucking want to? Why would I want to be anything other than a stupid fuckhole for my muscle beast of a father?