Something for Something (Part 1)

Commissioned by Anonymous

“Alright, miss, here we are–and feel free to call anytime you need a lift,” Miles said, as he pulled up next to the curb.

“Thanks again, sir,” the girl in the backseat of the car said, grabbed her backpack and climbed out of the campus security car, which had picked her up at the library and dropped her off in front of the house. In the front seat, Miles and Ed watched to make sure she got into her house, and then set off back to campus a few blocks away. Miles had pulled away and reached the end of the block before Ed started to giggle in the seat next to him.

“Shut up, I don’t want to hear it.”

“Ha, she called you ‘sir’! I always knew this day would come,” Ed said, laughing openly now, “I can’t believe it, my little security bumpkin has finally become a man.”

Miles scowled as he turned down a sidestreet and skulked a bit in the driver’s seat. He was at most six or seven years older than the college girl he’d just dropped off, but apparently he was already out of touch enough to warrant a “sir.” He didn’t want to be a “sir,” and he was sick and tired of working this damn security job. He’d been assigned to work with security services while he was attending school as a Freshman, and that’s when he’d first met Ed. Ed was an old timer–he’d worked for the school for close to forty years now, and as much as Miles liked the old guy, he didn’t want to be him, and yet it seemed like everything in his life had conspired to trap him here, in this faux squad car, dropping off girls that never seemed to age at the same houses off campus, and he gave a heavy sigh.

“Aww, hey, cheer up–you’re only as old as you feel.”

“And what does that make you, eighty?”

“Oh don’t get snappy with me, boy, we still have five hours on this shift, and I don’t want you getting all pissy and morose. It’s annoying. This is my last semester after all–maybe be a little happy that at least it only took close to half a century for me to escape.”

“Don’t remind me. I don’t want to be stuck doing this for the rest of my life. I had plans man, I had…gah…” Miles stopped himself before he rehashed the same old sob story for Ed to hear once again. The old guard was way more tolerant of his bullshit than he had any right to be, but Miles still didn’t want to push him away with a plea for pity. “Sorry, I won’t get into it.”

“Trust me, I understand better than most, kid.”

They got back to campus, and parked in a lot outside close to the library, ready for the next person who wanted to be ferried from safe haven to safe haven, and neither of them said anything for a while. Ed was either sleeping or pretending to sleep, and Miles was thinking back to all of those failed applications to grad school, how all of that work had been for nothing, all because his thesis’ conclusions had contradicted those of Dr. Taylor, the head of the chemistry department on campus, and his big money donors. Miles had been the most gifted student the department had ever seen, but thanks to Dr. Taylor’s insistence or writing him a personal recommendation, not a single school would accept him for graduate study. Effectively blacklisted and muzzled, he’d managed to receive a full time position on the security staff at campus, and here he was still. He could see the science building from where he was parked, and there were a few offices still lit, and he realized with a start that Dr. Taylor’s light was on. “That fucker…” Miles said under his breath.

“Who, your Goliath?”

“Yeah, shut the fuck up.”

“Hey, I’m sympathetic kid, but academia is a monster. You were too much of an idealist–you wanted to be right, more than you wanted to be successful. Life’s full of tradeoffs–you can’t get something for nothing.”

“What would I have to give up for a chance at revenge?”

Ed was quiet for a moment, “Is that what you’d really want?”

Miles thought for a moment, and then nodded, “Yeah, actually. What the hell, I don’t have anything waiting for me now–no girlfriend, no decent jobs, just one long slog to the grave, in the rut you so nicely ran down for me.”

“Well, a long slog can be fun,” Ed said, but saw that Miles was serious. He looked at him, wondering if it was worth it. It might not even work–sometimes it didn’t, but hey, if that’s want Miles wanted–what he really wanted–then it couldn’t hurt to try. Ed picked up the radio and said, “Hey Melissa, we’re gonna leave the car for a bit, gonna look into something in the science building.”

He didn’t bother to wait for confirmation, he just climbed out of the car, and Miles, wondering what was up, climbed out after him. “Where are you going Ed?”

“You’ll see–come on. I want to try something.”

Miles just hurried to catch up to the old guy as he crossed campus, matching his pace as they walked up to the science building and let themselves into the building. “Ed what the fuck are we doing?” Miles whispered, but Ed just started climbing stairs up to the chemistry department’s floor, and then they walked down the hall to the employee offices, Mile’s heart beating faster all the while, but he was actually curious about what Ed was doing. He’d almost expected them to go to Dr. Taylor’s office and tell him off or something, but they went in the other direction instead, until Ed came to an empty office which was set aside for the occasional visiting professor, or overflow instructors, and let himself in, waiting for Miles to follow before shutting the door behind them both. “Ok Ed, what the fuck is up?”

“Listen for a second, alright? Were you serious back in the car, about wanting revenge?”

Miles was a bit taken aback, and something in the older man’s creased face told him not to lie, and so he thought for a moment, not entirely sure himself. But at the end of the day, he was serious. He did want revenge, but he just felt powerless. Still, if he had the chance, he would have loved to discredit Dr. Taylor’s bullshit research, he would love to know that fucker down a few pegs. “Yeah, I was, and I am.”

“And you understand that in order to get something, you have to give something up, right? It might be things you weren’t even imagining, it might not even be worth it at the end of the day. Revenge is a costly thing–it can be worth it, but it’s costly. It wounds your soul in ways that you can’t understand until afterwards.”

“Ed, you’re freaking me out, what the fuck are you talking about?”

Ed just stared at him, knowing that if he tried to explain the whole story, they would lose their chance, and so he decided to wing it, he waved his hands in a momentary, complex pattern, and then laid them both on Mile’s chest, and after a single heartbeat, Miles was shoved back against the door by some invisible force.

“What the fuck was that?” he said, looking at Ed, but the older man was just looking at him, and smiling the oddest smile. “What was that Ed–could you give me an answer please?”

“It was magic.”

“Magic?”

“Let’s just say you might get what you wished for. I did warn you though–it can come with some…penalties.”

“I don’t–” Miles said, but gave a lurch, as one of his legs suddenly shortened substantially, his body standing cockeyed for a moment before the second one caught up, and dropped him down to a few inches under five feet. “What…the fuck…?” Miles said, looking down at his shorter stature, and then up at Ed. “You fucker.”

“I warned you…”

“What the fuck did you do to me, I’m fucking short!” Miles was craning his head up to look at Ed, and found the new perspective disconcerting. Nothing looked right–it was like somehow the entire room and everything in it had been grabbed and stretched upward away from him.

“It’s not going to stop there. Here maybe I should…hmm…yeah,” Ed said, and then wiggled his fingers at the wall and the entire surface shimmered before warping into a seamless mirror, and Miles looked at himself, looked at them both, and couldn’t believe how small he was. He didn’t want to be small! The sudden flash of anger that shot through him felt surprisingly good–it felt…justified, in some strange way, but as soon as it faded, he watched as his uniform started to bloat.

Part of the reason Miles had managed to get a work study job with the school in the first place was because he was one of the few incoming students who could pass the physical test required to be employed there. He’d always taken good care of his body, and one of the perks of working for the school was that he could use the athletic facilities for free, and he’d spent the last few years honing and perfecting his body, but as he watched, his six pack abs bloated outward, and then sagged down into a comical gut. He grabbed it by the sides, not quite able to believe it was attached to him, but he could feel it jiggle as he shook it, and then as he watched in the mirror, other parts of his body started to expand, and his gut only grew larger, the buttons of his shirt popping off, the zipper of his pants bursting open, the seat ripping out a second later. He just gawked at himself. He wasn’t just short–he was a blob. It only highlighted the fact that he was short, making him appear almost as wide as he was tall. “Oh…oh my god…what is happening. Please, Ed, you have to change me back, you have to, I can’t–”

“There’s nothing I can do for now, but don’t worry,” Ed said, “Just ride it out, and then we’ll talk.”

“You mean it’s not done?” Miles said, but as the words left his lips, he felt a strange itch spread all over his body, and the skin he could see started filling in with a copious amount of body hair, spreading in large whirls all over his belly, matching his dark hair, and he even felt it crawling up over his shoulders and down his back, making him shiver and itch for a few moments, before running his hands over it in surprise. Before he could even process it however, he noticed that the hairs weren’t staying dark for long–in fact, they all seemed to slowly be fading from black to grey, and then to white.

“No…No no no…” Miles said, and looked up at the mirror, watching his young face begin to crack and crease with thick, deep wrinkles, his cheeks sagging into jowls, A bushy white beard erupted across his face, crawling down his neck to meld with the white hair there, and his eyes turned grey and bloodshot, before blurring, making him squint to try and make out his image in the mirror. Thankfully, a moment later, a pair of half moon spectacles appeared, perched on his now bulbous nose, and he could make out his face again, not that he really wanted to. He looked almost as old as Ed, if not a bit older, and the clothes on his body started to shimmer and take on a life of their own, wrapping themselves up around him, contorting and twisting against his flabby body, reconstituting into a three piece suit, and if he hadn’t known it was him inside, he would have assumed he had become someone else entirely, and he just kind of gaped at his reflection for a few moments, trying desperately to understand how the short, fat old man looking back at him could possibly be himself.

“Hmm…are you done?” Ed said, walking up to him, “Weird, you usually get a tool…let me see…” the older man squatted down next to Miles, making him feel absurdly short, and Miles tried to back away from Ed as he gave him a strange pat down, and when Ed tested Mile’s new breast pocket on the inside of his suitcoat, he let out an “Aha!” and pulled out a full bent, very large pipe. “Here we are–your tool, sir.”

He extended the pipe to Miles, who looked at him, a bit terrified, but also curious. It looked small in his old mentor’s hands, a bit like a toy, but when he reached out and took it from him, he realized that was only because it was made for his own hands, with palms half the size of Ed’s. The pipe felt like it belonged there though, and he took a moment to examine it. The wood and the briar were almost impossibly black, and even though the surface was as smooth as the mirror, the wooden stem only gave of the slenderest reflection of light, indicating it’s roundness. The briar, in contrast, was very rough, almost like it would scrape off his skin if he rubbed it too hard. He’d admired it for a few moments, when he noticed a puff of smoke pop out of the bowl, and looking in it, he saw that somehow the pipe had filled and lit itself while he was holding it, and he looked up at Ed, wondering what he should do, but Ed didn’t seem interested in giving him direction. He looked at his reflection again, and figured he probably didn’t have much else to lose, stuck the stem of the pipe in his mouth and took what he’d intended to be a shallow draw, but as soon as he’d opened the airway to his lungs, the smoke shot through the stem of the pipe, burning its’ way down his throat and filling his lungs with high heat, making him wonder for a moment whether he was dying, but the heat was joining with something else, it was searching for something. He could feel it working out from his lungs, reaching for his heart, for that ball of hatred and resentment and anger he kept there for Dr. Taylor, for the man who had ruined his future, and the heat grasped it, and fertilized it, and Miles felt it suddenly burgen and blossom in him as righteous fury, the same anger he’d felt for that brief moment in his transformation, and it invigorated him.

He took a deeper draw off the pipe, feeling it settle deep within him and start changing him, but his heart this time–his spirit. It was warping him, but more than that, it was freeing him, freeing all of the cruelties he’d ever imagined, freeing all of the hate fueled fantasies of what he would do to that man, and using them. Beneath the fat, he could feel some of his musculature return, and even though he was short, he found his posture shifting into something more rigid and proud. His mouth curled up into a sneer, and then he felt the fear. What was he doing? What was he feeling? He shouldn’t be feeling this, he shouldn’t be wanting this to happen, this was wrong and immoral but he didn’t care, he did want it, he wanted it so bad, and he embraced it, he he pulled it deeper, feeling the anger flow down into his groin, the heat in his balls and cock unbearable for a moment, making him lean against the mirrored wall for support as he felt his cock grow and bulge in his pants, snaking it’s way down his leg, becoming a nine inch monstrous beast as thick as a pop can, his balls filling and churning with cum, bulging out the crotch of his pants beneath his gut, heavy and full of need and desire.

“Oh fuck…Oh fuck, I need to fuck something…” Miles growled, his voice gruff with smoke, and an octave deeper than moments before, “and I know just who I need to fuck, I think.” Miles grinned, he felt so free–it was like all of the burdens, all of the limitations on him had suddenly disappeared.

“Hold your horses, we need to talk for a second,” Ed said.

“There’s nothing to talk about, I have a date with the bastard down the hall.”

“You do, I know. But hear me out first,” Ed said, “Look, revenge is sweet and all that. But it does have a cost, as you can see. The spell I cast…the tool you have. It wants the spell to be completed, it wants you to take the revenge as much as you want it. But you can turn away. If you take your revenge, this is who you will be for the rest of your life. Think about that Miles–don’t throw away your youth on a whim. If revenge is what you want–if you’re willing to take this in exchange for it, then walk down that hall and take it. But if you can, I…just…think about it, alright?”

Miles had turned away already as Ed trailed off, shaking his head, and reached up for the handle awkwardly before flinging open the door and was marching down the hall. He wasn’t going to be denied this anymore. He wanted this. He wanted it so badly, he’d never realized how much he’d wanted it. He’d stayed on campus out of spite, he hadn’t seen it that way, but it was true. He’d wanted a chance like this, and now it was his, and then he passed the intersection which led out of the building and his stride faltered and he came to a stop, and he thought.

He looked down at himself, he felt the gut barely confined by the suit, the heavy arms and fatty thighs, looked at his small hands and wiggled the toes of his petite feet in his shoes. He felt the sensation of his hairy body, of his beard on his wrinkled hands. He felt the heat of the pipe, the tool urging him onward, to finish the spell, to take what he deserved and what he wanted. He looked up, and realized he would be looking up for the rest of his life, his life that was suddenly going to be much, much shorter in more ways than one, and he asked himself if this is what he really wanted. He could leave. He could turn away from all of this, and yet the power coursing through him, the desire and the drive, he’d never felt so alive! For the first time in years, it felt like he had direction, a goal, a purpose, a righteous purpose, something that was worth doing, and he realized that revenge was more than him, it was making sure that bastard never had a chance to ruin another student’s career. It was making sure that no injustice got away unpunished, and he renewed his stride, his short legs making quick strides down the hall, a cruel sneer curling his mouth, and he turned the handle on Dr. Taylor’s office door, and shoved the door so it slammed into the wall, making the professor jump at his computer, and he turned towards the sound, and saw the old, short man standing in his doorway, the pipe in his old mouth churning out a thick chimney of smoke, and the man said, “Dr. Taylor, I believe that you and I have some unfinished business.”

To be Concluded

Let’s just say that, since I came out at the age of sixteen, my relationship with my dad has been a bit rocky. Hell, rocky, that’s a joke really, and my coming out to him was more like him discovering my porn stash on the computer and then throwing me out onto the street that same night, after a massive argument. I ended up living with my Grandmother (on my mom’s side) until I was eighteen and could legally do whatever I wanted, and while I’ve spoken to my dad on occasion, I’ve never forgiven him for throwing me out, and he’s never forgiven me for being a fag.

Still, life goes on, right? I managed to scrape through college with a combination of massive loans and a few scholarships, with one year paid by my grandma. She’s always had a sweet spot for me, ever since my mom had passed away when I was ten, and she was the only relative left connected to my mom. She’d always tell me that she had something else to give me, but she wasn’t particularly rich, so I never knew what she meant, until she was diagnosed with cancer and moved into hospice, and she gave me the wish powder. “It can do whatever you want it to do, but only three times in your life. Use it wisely–use it justly.”

Those were her last words to me, now in my mid 40’s. What was I going to do with it? I didn’t know until my father didn’t even bother to show up for the funeral, and then I knew what my first wish had to be. By then, my father and I could speak and even be in the same room, so long as nothing unsavory came up. I paid him a visit, powder in hand, and sprinkled a bit of it into his pipe while he was out of the room for a few moments, and then sat back and watched.

So, what do you think of my new pipe slave? He’s a sexy one, isn’t he? Pretty kinky too. Sure, he still remembers his old life, and goodness, when we’re alone and I give him permission to speak, he’s generally livid, but I don’t let him vent for long. After all, I’d rather see his smoke a pipe, or suck my cock–justice sure can be sweet sometimes, eh?

The Professor’s Club Part 1

Commissioned by Anonymous

It wasn’t until he’d already rung the doorbell that Kevin looked down at the invitation he’d received from Professor Sullivan, and then at his watch, and it dawned on him that he’d gotten the time wrong. The gathering wasn’t supposed to happen for another hour, and he thought about running and hiding, but before he could act, the door opened, and the Professor was staring down at him. “Oh! Mr. Connors–you’re rather early.” He was a very big man, filling the doorway with his belly. With some embarrassment, Kevin realized that he was wearing a robe–and he blushed. It didn’t help that he’d always liked the gentlemanly look of his teacher–he’d had a few fantasies about him, and finding him like this, well, Kevin did his best to not get hard on the doorstep.

“Yeah, I know, I just realized that. I’m gonna…I’ll go and come back, since you’re still probably getting ready–”

“Oh nonsense,” Professor Sullivan said, “I’m all ready for the party, I was just…getting ready myself, is all. Here,” he said, ushering Kevin into the foyer, “Go ahead and wait in the study for a few minutes while I go put on some clothes. It’s just down the hall there, the only door on the left.”

Kevin nodded, and while his professor hurried upstairs, Kevin looked around the high ceilinged foyer, admiring the age of the building, and then walked down the hall until he found the equally spacious study, the wood floor covered with a variety of plush rugs, several armchairs and sofas scattered about, with flames raging in the fireplace. He wandered the perimeter of the room, admiring the books stuffed into the bookshelf, the antique desk covered with papers, and the wide rack of pipes hung on the wall by the door.

“I see you found it alright,” the professor said, as he entered, shutting the door behind him, “would you like something to drink? I’m going to have a smoke, myself,” he walked to the rack of pipes, selected one for himself, and turned back to Kevin, “Would you like one as well?”

“Thanks, but I’m good. I tried a cigarette once when I was a kid, and that was enough for me.”

“Well Kevin, I don’t blame you for disliking cigarettes, but pipe tobacco is quite the step above that. Here, let me pack one for you, you can try it, and you’re welcome to refuse it if you’d like. But there’s no harm in giving it a try, right?”

“I suppose, though I’d hate to waste your tobacco, Professor.”

“Don’t worry about it, I have just the pipe and blend you you I think. Also, don’t call me professor–you can call me Mike, if you’d like. We’re just friends here.”

Kevin nodded, and accepted the pipe the professor handed, and felt something carved into the bowl. Being careful not to tip out the tobacco, he looked at the pipe the professor had handed him, and saw that the bowl was carved into an intricate design. On one side, he could see the head of a dragon breathing a stream of fire around the front of the bowl, which formed into a head of a wolf or some other canine, before moving back up the neck. The wood and briar of the pipe itself was so black that it looked burnt to ash, but it was plenty hard. “That’s a very nice design,” he said to Mike, “Where did you find it?”

“Oh, that one’s been passed down through my family–I think my great-grandfather carved it himself, actually. This house has been my family’s property since before that even, passed down from Sullivan to Sullivan. Now, hold the pipe in your mouth, and I’m going to light the tobacco. Just take in a few puffs, to keep the flame going.” Kevin did as the older man described, and after a couple of false lights, they managed to get the pipe going, and then the professor lit his own. “There. Well? What do you think? It’s a bit nicer than the cigarette you tried, I hope.”

“Yeah,” Kevin said, “it’s not bad, but I don’t really feel the need to make a habit of it.”

“Oh no worries about that–one bowl isn’t going to hurt anyone. Have a seat Kevin, and relax.”

Kevin did as the professor suggested, and sat down on a sofa across from the pot-bellied professor, and the smoke was nice–it was making him feel more at ease already. “So this whole house is yours, huh? Do you have any kids?”

The professor sighed, “No, I don’t. The Sullivan line ends with me, unfortunately. I’m still not certain what will become of the house after me, I admit. Though sometimes solutions to problems like these arrive without much effort on one’s own part, if you are patient. Sometimes earlier than you expect them even.”

They lapsed into silence for a moment, and Kevin took a deeper draw off the pipe than he’d meant too–it felt like the smoke had pushed its way deeper without him inhaling, and he let out a cough, his throat burning. It was then that he noticed something strange–the sides of the pipe, the eyes of the beasts carved into it–they were burning a deep red, all on their own. He looked closer at them, and was caught off guard when the smoke pouring out of the bowl suddenly twisted itself up and rammed its way into his mouth and nose. He dropped the pipe, coughing, hacking, and waving his hands in front of his face, but even from where the pipe lay on the floor, the smoke continued to twist up into him, and he started to feel hot.

“What…What the fuck is this? What’s happening?” he said, but the professor didn’t say anything, and Kevin couldn’t be sure through the smoke, but was the older man…changing? He looked hairier, all of a sudden, and when the older man grinned wide, his teeth were all pointed and sharp. That was all Kevin could notice before he doubled over, coughing, saw his own arms, and nearly screamed. The professor wasn’t the only one sprouting fur, both of his arms from the elbow down were covered in grey hairs, and above that, he saw brown hairs sprouting all the way up, disappearing under his shirt. He was itchy all over, and he yanked off his shirt, finding the hair was spreading everywhere on his body, except for an area covering his belly and chest, where the skin was drying out and flaking out into something almost resembling scales.

“I…I have to get out of here,” Kevin said, woozy, but when he tried to stand, he tumbled over almost immediately, hitting the ground with a thud. So much smoke was pouring into him now, it was all he could breathe, and then came the aches, great groaning pain all over his body. His face, hands and feet started to pulse and pound, his bones grinding against one another as they reformed themselves. His pinky disappeared entirely, leaving him with three thick fingers and a thumb, all of them covered with fur aside from a leathery pad, and a sharp claw where his nail had been. He reached up with his new hands and felt his face, the hair sprouting there too, but the structure was all askew, and he could feel his mouth and nose pushing out into a snout that he could soon see if he crossed his eyes, and running his now longer tongue over his teeth, he realized they were as sharp as the professors had appeared moments earlier. Moving his hands back, he felt his ears had changed as well–they had migrated up on his head and become much larger, sticking up straight in the air.

The next changes happened so fast that afterwards, the only thing he could remember clearly was the pain. First, he felt something bunch up behind his shoulder blades, and then with two painful spikes, leathery wings the same color as his scaled belly erupted out of his back and spread wide, and below that, his tailbone pushed out above his rear and grew out into a thick, scaled tail tufted with a brush of fur at the end. Finally, a splitting headache in his skull accompanied two horns, which sprouted out of the top of his skull. He opened his eyes long enough to see the pipe on the ground before him, burning almost white hot, dissolve into ash and a final ball of smoke which shoved it’s way into him and lodged in his throat, the heat of it unbearable for a few moments, and when he finally exhaled a gasp, a small gout of flame erupted from his throat and singed the fibers of the carpet in front of him.

“Alright, it’s finished–I’m sorry about all of that, it actually looked quite painful. Here, take my paw,” a deep voice said over him, but Kevin rolled over grunting as he accidentally tweaked one of his new wings awkwardly, and tried to push himself up, but nothing felt right. Between the tail, the wings, and the fact that he had seemed to have gained about fifty pounds of fat and nearly a foot of height, he nearly tumbled over, before two furry arms grabbed his and righted him. “Look, calm down,” the voice said, “I know it’s scary the first time, trust me, I remember–but there isn’t really a good way to warn people.”

Kevin managed to look at the beast holding him, and saw that the professor had changed as well, becoming an equally large werewolf, but he’d kept his rather stately manner, his glasses perched across his snout, and Kevin would have laughed if he hadn’t been so scared and angry. However, he quickly realized that something else was overwhelming those emotions as well–he was horny. Hornier than he’d ever felt before, his cock hardening in the crotch of his pants that were still stretched over his legs, though his massive feet had exploded out of his shoes. When the professor pulled him over and started licking at his snout, Kevin found himself licking back, the two of them kissing and groping each other’s bodies, stripping each other of their remaining clothing, the smoke of the professor’s pipe and Kevin’s throat intermingling.

“Come on boy,” the professor growled, “This big wolf has been lonely for far too long–how about you give me a nice fuck?”

Kevin had long fantasized about having sex with his professor, but this wasn’t quite how he’d imagined it happening–he was in no mood to refuse though. The chubby, white furred wolf bent over the side of an armchair, smoking his pipe, and Kevin got down, opening up his hole with a brief probing from his tongue, before lubing up his cock with some hot spit. He took a moment to look at it, the red shaft emerging from his new sheath, but he didn’t really care–he needed to fuck. Gently, he worked his way into the professor’s ass, smoke pouring out of his nostrils as he did, the professor urging him onward.

“Oh fuck–fuck–” Kevin said, “Did you know that I’ve wanted to fuck this ass of yours since my first day of class with you?”

“Of course I did boy–no one stares at me like you do anymore–now come on, I want you to fuck me, not tease me.”

Kevin wrapped his arms around his teacher’s thighs and started fucking him, but he went slow and steady, not wanting to waste it. Still, the urges in him worked against him, and soon enough he was right on the edge. With a fiery howl, he came, shooting his load up Mike’s ass.

“Oh fuck yeah, that’s what I’ve been needing,” the professor said, panting, “I haven’t been fucked like that in years!”

Kevin, pulled his cock out and backed away, still not quite used to his balance, and looked down at himself, clear headed for the first time since he’d started smoking the pipe, and he started panicking. The professor stood up and walked over to him, but Kevin backed away. “I…I don’t know what you did to me–what is this? Change me back!”

“Look, it’s easy, it really is, but it’s going to take some practice,” the professor said, “Just calm down first, and I’ll talk you through it, alright? Just take a few deep breaths to start, and think. Focus on your old body, and relax…”

It was hard, but Kevin eventually managed to do as the professor said, and as he focused, he could feel his body changing again, shifting back to his human body, but he didn’t allow himself a moment of celebration until he was completely back to normal. “Oh thank fucking god,” he said, feeling his body with his hands, but it wasn’t quite his body. There were a few slight changes–he was a bit heavier than he had been, he could tell because his clothes were all a bit too tight, and he was hairy, but in all the wrong places. His belly, which had been scaled, was mostly smooth aside from a slight treasure trail, but the rest of him a solid, even coat of hair, even over his back. “Fuck…what…what was that professor? What did you do to me?”

The professor smiled, and changed back as well, his transformation happening almost immediately, “Well, I suppose I should welcome you into the family, eh?”

The professor put his arm around the young man’s shoulders and led him back to the sofas, where he told him the whole story. The Sullivans, it turned out, had been cursed generations ago to be were-creatures, capable of maintaining human form, but whenever their emotions overcame them they transformed into monstrous creatures–especially when they were sexually aroused. The professor, though, had been the first in his line, that he knew of, who had been gay, and since he’d never taken a wife and never fathered any children, he had assumed the curse would die with him, but it wasn’t that simple. He discovered that the curse demanded a successor, or the professor would age forever, older and older, and he’d had no interest in that, and so he’d decided to do his best to find a successor to take his place who might at least enjoy it.

In his research on the curse, he’d discovered that, on occasion, individuals who weren’t members of the family had been cursed by the manor, usually the wives and other children who had entered into the Sullivan line through marriage, when no other obvious heir had been available. While not necessarily Sullivan in blood, it was good enough for the curse, and Mike figured that he might as well not prolong it. That, he said, was what tonight’s meeting was about. He’d found four students in his classes, Kevin and three others, in the course of his teaching, who all seemed rather interested in his classes in mythology, and so he had decided that the four of them ought to be his successors. It helped, he added, that all four of them were gay like he was. The curse wasn’t easy, and he felt bad for putting the burden on the men without telling them, but he literally couldn’t talk about the curse to someone outside the family.

Kevin listened intently, and if he hadn’t been subjected to the transformation moments before, he would have assumed the professor was lying, but that wasn’t an option. Still, he had to admit, reluctantly, now that it was behind him–he had liked it. In fact, he secretly wanted to change back so he could try out his wings, and see if they actually worked. Finally, he’d decided that he’d had enough, and as the professor spoke, he leaned in and gave him a deep kiss. The professor was surprised, but didn’t resist, and as it grew deeper, both of them shifted back, the second time less painful than the first but no less disconcerting–but Kevin could tell he’d get used to it in time.

“I think we can talk about this all later,” he said, blowing a puff of smoke into the professor’s face, “Right now, I think something needs some attention,” he said, rubbing the professor’s own shaft.

“Well, make it quick,” the professor said, grinning, “The others will be here pretty soon.”

“I’ll do my best,” Kevin said, and swallowed the entire shaft, the heat in his throat making the professor groan in pleasure. The professor started bucking up and down, ramming his cock in and out of the young man’s snout. Kevin heated his throat up a bit more, watching the professor’s white furred gut shudder and shake as he fucked his mouth, and then the cum flooded his mouth, and with it’s awkward shape, he wasn’t quite ready for it, as it flooded out his jaws and down his scaly neck. They stayed changed for a few minutes together, smoking in their respective fashions, until they both heard the doorbell ring, and they sat up.

“Well fuck, time sure does fly when you’re having fun–has it been an hour already?” Mike said, standing up, shifting back in a few moments as he did, “Well I’d best go greet the guests, eh? You might want to change back yourself–but we’ll have to find you some new shoes, I think. Why don’t you just stay here for a few minutes, until I come back?”

“Alright,” Kevin said, standing up and looking over his shoulder at his new wings, “I’ve been wanting to give these a shot anyway.”

The professor sighed, “Well, just be careful, alright? Flyers tend to be a bit more clumsy than the rest of us after the first changes.”

“I’m not clumsy,” Kevin said, a huff of smoke curling from his nose.

The professor started to argue, but the doorbell rang again, and he raced off to the front door, pulling on and fixing his attire as he went, checking himself in the mirror for a moment, before pulling open the door, and finding two men on the doorstep–Luis Ortega and Derrick Jackson. “Mr. Ortega and Mr. Jackson–welcome! Come on in, you’re the first to arrive.”

The two men eyed each other awkwardly, each of them wondering why the other had been invited, and then stepped inside. Luis was a slender, boyish guy–and a borderline genius. He was already making waves in the math and computer science departments for his coding abilities, and Mike had been equally impressed by him in his own class. Still, he was less than enthusiastic about his personal hygiene. He had a habit of showing up to his classes in the same clothes for several days straight, often looking like he’d been sleeping in them–if he’d slept at all, and his medium length black hair could use a trim, but still, he was a nice, honest young man. Derrick on the other hand was nearly a head taller than Mr. Ortega, and massive. He was a senior on the football team–one of the linebackers–and he definitely looked the part. Still, while not the brightest, he was a very sweet guy with a heart of gold, which Mike enjoyed, and very curious and inquisitive.

“This is…a very big house, Professor,” Derrick said, looking around the foyer.

“Well, it’s the old family manor–not my own. I’m stuck with it, unfortunately.”

“It’s a nice thing to be stuck with,” Luis added, and he was going to ask something else, when they all heard a loud crash from a room down one of the halls on the first floor, and the professor grimaced.

“Well, I still have some things to see to in the study for a few minutes, but dinner should be ready soon–why don’t the two of you look around the grounds for a bit, since you’re so curious? You’re welcome to look around the rooms upstairs–there’s quite a good number of studies and suites my family have had decorated in various ways throughout the years. There’s also a large garden out back that’s beautiful this time of year.”

Luis and Derrick gave a shrug, and then set off around the house, Luis slipping into the living room, heading towards the sunroom and conservatory, while Derrick climbed the stairs towards the bedrooms. When they were out of sight, the professor hurried back to the study where Kevin has stumbling up from the broken remains of the coffee table he’d crushed in his tumble. “Sorry Professor, I thought I had it under control…”

Mike just scowled at him, “That was centuries old, you know.” Kevin just looked kind of sheepish, and the professor rolled his eyes. “Oh well, you were bound to break something–at least it was something I didn’t like very much. Now, why don’t you change back before you do anymore damage?”

“Oh quit being such a stooge,” Kevin said, walking over and giving the professor a kiss, “I’m still hella horny–is that a side effect or something?”

“Ha, you could say that…” the professor said, his face and chest starting to grow furry, “I’m sure the two guys who just came can look after themselves…we’ll check up on them in a bit…” he growled, dragging Kevin to the ground, for another round, as Luis and Derrick wandered deeper into the house.

Identity Crises Part 2

Commissioned by Scot158f

***WARNING*** This has been pretty cleanish up until now, but it’s only going to get worse from here. In this section: inanimate TF (smoke related), farting, and scat.

Terry watched the eight foot tall man tromp down the stairs, his hair mostly grey, a massive, tangled beard stretching all the way down to his belly button, the rest of his body covered in grey hairs as well. He had a massive, taut get, but the rest of his body was packed full of muscle…and as he came downstairs, Terry caught a whiff of his daddy’s musk and felt a shiver and moan rip through him. He loved how his daddy smelled after one of daily workouts, it was the best.

“Hey son,” Caleb asked, “Whatcha watchin’?”

“Just cartoons,” Terry said, and he looked at the TV, a bit surprised. Sure, he was a teenager, but he still liked watching them, right? Then why had he expected it to be some show about food? It was strange, that was for sure. “Are you done with your workout?”

“Sure am–nice and musky, just how you like me, boy. You want my jock?”

“Aww hell yeah dad,” Terry said, “You know I’ll never turn down your stinking jockstrap.”

“Heh, well, I’ll trade you my sweaty jock for a smoke, boy. Get ready, would ya?”

“Sure thing!” Terry said, and got out of the recliner, but his body just felt odd. He was chubby, like always, but shouldn’t he be…well, fatter? And something about his cock and balls, they were…heavy for some reason, and…hard? He reached down out of curiosity, and peered over his small, soft gut and just gaped at his cock and balls–his cigar and pipes, he meant, of course. He didn’t have a cock and balls like his dad…which was…weird, right? Instead he just had a cigar jutting out from his crotch–a long one, almost nine inches, and below that, swinging heavily and clacking into each other, two massive pipes…but that was how things had always been right?

No…No this was too much. This was all too much, and he pushed back against the wave in his mind, but it was too hard, too all encompassing. He knew this was wrong, that this wasn’t how things should be. He didn’t live with his daddy…he…he was the daddy. And he had a normal cock, and it was small, or was it big? And he’d been–fatter? Thinner? More muscular? But older, definitely older.

“Boy, get smokin’–I ain’t got all night,” Caleb said from where he was sitting in his chair, and Terry blushed, rushing over to his smoking stuff, his worries forgotten in the sudden fear that he might disappoint his dad somehow. He walked over and started packing his pipes full of tobacco, the sensation of the wood and briar both familiar and…so strange. Would it hurt…when he lit his pipes and his cigar? Of course not, it had never hurt before, right? But how would he know–he’d never done this before, but if he’d never done this before, how was he packing his pipes so well, and so evenly, tamping the tobacco down carefully, making sure he could pull an even draw from his lungs once he’d lit them? Still trying to understand what was happening, he walked over to where his dad was lounging back, his jockstrap off, his ten inch cock erect in the air, and before Terry even realized what was happening, his dad had picked him up–all of him, and was dropping him down on his cock. He opened his ass like he’d been trained to, letting all ten inches slide up his ass, making him shiver, and as it did, he saw his cigar grow a bit, like it always did when he was horny.

“Oh fuck dad, that feels so good…” Terry moaned.

“Oh yeah? Well go ahead and smell this jock of mine, and tell me what you think,” he said, and pressed the wet mesh into his son’s face, watching him take it in his mouth and suck some of the sweaty grime off of it, the boy’s cigar cock growing a bit longer still, now about a foot in length, jutting up between them. “Yeah, that’s it–now how about we get you lit?”

Caleb picked up a big zippo off the table next to him, and started with his son’s cigar cock, lighting the end until it had a bright red tip, and then worked on his bowls, the smoke already pouring out of his son’s mouth by the time he had them both lit–and then he locked lips with Terry, the jock caught between them, and he inhaled, drawing the smoke up through his son’s body and into his own through the mesh, cigar burning bright orange as he sucked it down, and the same with his boy’s pipes.

“Mmmm…” Caleb said, when he finally pulled away, “Now that’s a nice smoke.”

“I’m glad you like it,” Terry said, “Your jock isn’t so bad either.”

Caleb laughed, and pulled his son close, taking one of his son’s meaty nipples between his teeth and sucking more smoke out through that, feeling his son gasp and clench his big cock with his ass, and he took a moment to admire his boy’s body. He was growing up to be a beautiful cub–not a furry or muscular as his dad, but with a nice chubby gut and moobs, and a hot set of junk, which Caleb used at every opportunity. He leaned in and took another drag off his son’s other nipple, chewing on his nipple a bit and making Terry groan, before exhaling the smoke into Terry’s mouth, filling him to the brim with it.

They stayed like that for a long while, Terry impaled on his dad’s cock the entire time. Caleb would take a long drag off his son’s cock, and relax back, letting his son spend a few minutes cleaning off his sweaty body, the heat of the pipes and cigar resting between them. As Terry’s cock burned down further and further, Caleb started spitting into his hand, lubing it up with the cooling ash and spreading it up and down his body and his cub’s, streaking them both black, and then Terry would lick it off, hungry for the smoke and anything it made. As horny as Terry was though, his cigar cock couldn’t grow as fast as his dad smoked it, but he did his best to keep it as big as he could.

As his daddy smoked him down, the worries and concerns which Terry had been wrestling with seemed to diminish slowly. This–this here–was important, not those imagined things. Being smoked by his dad, fucked on his massive cock, cleaning off his sweaty body like a good boy–those are what mattered more than anything else in the whole world. His dad was getting more and more excited, and started working his cock around in his ass, and then he wrapped his massive hands under his armpits and started fucking Terry up and down on his massive cock. The sensation of being powerless in the hands of his daddy–it was turning him on so much, his cigar was growing almost as fast as it was burning, and smoke was pouring out of his mouth and tits now. “Oh fuck dad, oh fuck! Fill me up, pump your boy full of your daddy seed!” Terry moaned.

“Oh yeah boy, burn that fuckin’ cigar down–I don’t want anything left but a fucking nub!”

With a shudder, Terry came, smoke gouting out of his mouth, and Caleb locked lips with him, inhaling as much of it as he could, his son’s sweet smoke pushing his own cock over the edge, and he pumped his load into Terry’s hole, his ass milking him as dry as he could, the cigar, now less than an inch long, burning out between their bodies, the pipes below empty as well. Still, Caleb took a few moments to suck his son dry, getting as much smoke out of him as he could, and then he let Terry pull himself up off his softening cock, and get down.

“Thanks son, that was a real nice smoke,” Caleb said, and then hefted himself up off the chair, and stretched. “Damn, I think I’m too old for this,” he said with a chuckle.

“Ha, you’ll never be too old for me,” Terry said, and gave him a hug. He only came up to his massive dad’s chest, but when the big man wrapped his arms around him too, he’d never felt so safe and secure in his whole life, especially since his wife had left him.

Wife? Wait…no, his…mom?

When Terry pulled away, he realized he didn’t know if he had a mom, and he looked up at his dad, and asked, “Dad, who…who was my Mom? I don’t…” The look of surprise that crossed his dad’s face seemed strange to Terry, almost like he hadn’t even been expecting the question. And why would he, really? It was a stupid question, wasn’t it? He just…didn’t have a mom. That was normal, wasn’t it? “I–I’m sorry, just forget I asked.”

“No! No, uh…don’t worry about it. Look, I have to go do something upstairs for a bit, but then I’ll come back down, and we can talk about it, alright? Why don’t you just get your pipes cleaned out?”

“Sure, dad,” Terry said, and blushed as his dad’s big hand tousled his hair.

The big man tromped off and squeezed his way up the stairs, and Terry thought he heard him say something as he left, “Man, I don’t think I’m cut out to be a dad–that was way harder than I thought. Being old kind of sucks–I don’t know how he does it. Still, it’s better than being a teenager.”

Terry just watched him go, wondering what in the world he was talking about. But those creeping doubts came back, and when he reached down and knocked the last bit of ash from his cigar, and worried for a minute that he’d destroyed his cock–but that was silly. All he had to do was get horny, and it would grow back, like always. Always–had it always been like this? Had he always been a teenager, with his big manly dad? With pipes and cigars where his cock and balls ought to be?

It took Terry a second to realize that he was having a panic attack–nearly hyperventilating–and all he wanted to do was run upstairs and find his daddy and make sure everything was ok, but he got a grip on himself, and walked over to his smoke gear, and focused on cleaning himself out, knocking the ash out of the bowls of his pipes, before running big pipe cleaners through them, shivering a bit. He wished he wasn’t so ticklish, but it just felt so strange, running the fuzzy wires up his pipes. It took quite a while for him to get it all clean, and he was just about done with his second pipe, when he heard his dad coming back downstairs. Good, maybe they could talk–Terry had…some questions for him, and he really wanted some answers.

The reality wave hit him again as his son turned the corner, but he barely even noticed it. One second he was cleaning out one of the big pipes stuck to his crotch, and then the next he had the pipe up in his hand. The sudden shift caught him off guard, and he just stared at it for a second, then at himself. Hell, he was normal sized–he wasn’t a short cub anymore–in fact, he seemed to be about seven feet tall now, and the sudden vertigo caught him off guard, as he wobbled a bit, rebalancing to counterbalance his massive gut with his fat ass. Wait, he was fat again? Wait, fat…again? And a cub?

It had happened again, he was sure of it now–things were changing, but how? Why? He looked down at himself, but everything seemed right…didn’t it? The brief moment of clarity was already gone, and he couldn’t hold onto any of what had just happened–this was how he’d always looked. His massive gut ganging down past his waist, several inches falling down below the food and ash stained wife beater he wore all the time, and he reached around and gave his ass crack a good scratch where it popped up over the top of his ratty boxers, and then itched one of his hairy pits for good measure. What had he been thinking about again? He shrugged his shoulders and went back to packing his pipe, and as he did, let off a big belch.

“Hot damn Pa, that was a good one. Taste as good comin’ up as it did going down?” Caleb asked, picking a cigar out of a humidor, before biting off the end and lighting it up.

“Ha, sure as hell did,” Terry said, and then looked a bit puzzled, when he heard the deep twang of his own voice, “What in tarnation…” he muttered, trying to figure out what had happened to his voice.

“What’s up, Pa?”

His son had it too, but he hadn’t noticed…but why should he have? It was normal for a son to talk like his Pa, right? Where else would he have picked it up? “Nah, nothin’, just bein’ thick I guess. Ya know yer Pa, I ain’t too bright.”

“Ha, that’s alright, ‘cause yer damn sexy,” Caleb said, taking a deep drag off his cigar.

Terry went back to packing his pipe, and tried to remember what had been bothering him, but couldn’t find it. His head just wasn’t quite working fast enough to keep up with what was going on, but hell, it didn’t matter–he was just horny! He lit his pipe still chuckling, when he let loose a loud, wet fart that surprised both he and Caleb. “Well damn,” he said, “Guess it needs tah come outa both ends, eh son?”

“Sounds like it,” Caleb said, walking over and wrapping his big arms around his Pa and taking a deep sniff of the air. “Damn, it’s a hot, stinky one too–I fuckin’ love those.”

His son still was the same size as his dad had been–wait, his dad? No, he was…well he was big, that was all that mattered. Big, and hairy, and musky…Terry growled low and started grinding his big ass into his son’s legs–feeling the bulge of his son’s cock pressing into his flabby back, as Caleb grabbed both his flabby tits in his massive hands and started squeezing them. His boy wasn’t relly a “boy” anymore, Terry knew. Hell, he hadn’t been a boy in years now. At 27, he was one hot bear, and Terry was just happy to have him in his life. They’d been fucking for so long Terry didn’t think they would ever be apart–he could still remember their first fuck on his son’s eighteenth birthday–that had been one special fucking day. He was so happy to have a son as gay as he was. He reached around and gripped his son’s beard–he was too short to reach much else, and pulled him closer. “Ah fuck son, ya sure know how tah git yer Pa ragin’ horny.”

“Oh yeah? Well ya know what I want Pa?” Caleb asked, “I want a taste a this big, fat ass of yours.” Caleb set his cigar off in a nearby ashtray and shoved his hand down the back of his dad’s boxers.

“Fuck…aww damn boy, ya sure? It’s pretty filthy back there…”

“Just how I like it,” Caleb said, yanking down the back getting down on his knees. He kneaded his dad’s wide ass a bit and then spread the cheeks and started rubbing his greasy, tangled beard up and down his dad’s crack, listening to the fat man moan. Terry leaned forward, bracing himself against the wall and spread his legs apart, still puffing on his pipe, giving Caleb better access to his crack, and felt his son’s tongue start cleaning out his sweaty crack, probing up his shithole, and he moaned, feeling his own large cock start pressing up against his gut.

Again, Terry found himself distracted. Big cock? He hadn’t had a very big cock last time he was this big? Last time? What last time? He’d always had a cock this size…right? Or had he…had he had a tiny cock before? No, he’d always had a cock this size, this big foot long cock. Yeah, a massive foot long cigar sticking out between his legs. How else was he supposed to fuck his son, with this big gut in the way? Yeah, he might not be smart, but he more than made up for it downstairs. Caleb sometimes joked that he did a better job of thinking with his cock than with his head, and he was probably right. Thinking with his cock was a whole lot more fun too.

“Aww yeah son, that feels so good…git that tongue up there.”

“Fuck dad, yer hole’s so fuckin’ nasty–I love it,” Caleb said, and he groped for his cigar, took a deep drag off of it, anf then locked lips with his dad’s hole, pumping his ass full of smoke, the warm air making Terry shiver. He did it a few more times, pumping Terry good and full, and then, when Terry couldn’t hold any more, he bore down, a loud, long, smoky fart streaming right into his son’s face, who inhaled as much of it as he could.

“Aw fuck…fuck that’s nice…” Terry said, smelling it himself, “Yer smoke gives me the best goddamn gas, boy.”

“Sure as fuck does, I fuckin’ can’t get enough of it.”

Terry grinned. “I know somethin’ else a pig like you can’ git enough of,” he said, and stood up, stepping out of his boxers and plopping down into his recliner, putting it up so his feet were level with his son’s face, “Go on, I know how much mah filthy feet turn ya on, boy.”

With Caleb on his knees in front of him, Terry was oddly struck by just how…big his son was. He was big, like…just really damn huge. Even on his knees, his face was still level with Terry where lounged in the recliner, and he had to hunch down to press his nose between his dad’s toes and take a good whiff of the nasty funk that had built up there. Wide too–his son was so big they’d had to keep building out the doorways as he grew up. Even now, he had to fit through them sideways, or else his shoulders would get stuck. It was lucky their house had ten foot ceilings, but he had the curious thought that his son still wasn’t done growing, even though he was probably one of the biggest men on the planet. He was definitely one of the hairiest too–his entire body was covered with curly brown body hair, which was usually matted down with sweat and grime, since he worked out close to eight hours a day. Still, Terry didn’t mind–he loved his sweaty, filthy boy, and when they went to bed, he’d usually give him a nice long tongue bath, before his son took his turn, licking the sweat from between his fatty rolls…

Terry groaned as Caleb ran his big tongue up the sole of his foot and then started sucking on his toes. In his recliner, Terry tensed up for a moment, and then let loose another fart, the stink wafting out right into his son’s face, and the look of desire that shot across it and he smirked. “God, I can’t believe I raised ya tah be such a damn stinkhound.”

“Well, yer so fuckin’ nasty dad, what else would I have grown up tah be?” Caleb said, “Hey dad, ya know, why don’t ya wear those big boots ayers fer the rest of the weekend? Even when yer fucking sleepin’? Then I can clean ‘em out and yer nasty feet too on Monday, after ya git home from work.”

Work. Where did he work again? Wasn’t it…wasn’t it doing like…cooking or a chef? No that wasn’t it, where in the hell had he gotten that idea? He was a forklift operator at a warehouse–sitting on his ass all day in the hot building–his son loved how nasty and sweaty he was after a long day of work, and his booted feet would be absolutely howling by the time he took them off. Just imagining his son sucking on his grimy feet after a long day of work was enough to raise his big cock to over half mast, and Caleb reached up and wrapped one hand around it, so he could worm a finger under his thick foreskin and collect the cheese, which he then smeared on Terry’s feet before licking away.

“Alright dad, I think yer good ‘n clean. I got somethin’ I wanna try though,” Caleb said, standing up to his full height, “Now don’t move, I want tah see if this’ll work.”

Terry watched as Caleb walked around to the side of the recliner, and then in one fluid motion, kicked his foot over so he was straddling the entire recliner, his ass towards his dad’s face. “What’cha doin’ boy?” was all Terry had time to ask before Caleb reached down and yanked on the lever, the chair ratcheting back and slamming Terry’s fat face between his son’s muscular, sweaty ass.

He didn’t have time to breathe, and as soon as he was firmly planted, Caleb let loose with a fart of his own right in Terry’s face, and he gulped it down, his ten inch cock now absolutely rigid, and Terry was lapping up the gunk from his son’s crack and probing down the hole with his tongue, listening to Caleb moan, relishing the sensation of being slammed up his son’s ass.

Then Caleb bent over at his waist, and Terry felt him start sucking on his cock, and the dual assault was enough to send shivers all over his body. It felt like his head just shut down, and all he could think about was how hot it was to clean out his boy’s crack while he got his big cock sucked off. The ten inch monster would have been rough for a normal person, but Caleb’s throat was as big as the rest of him, and he took it without a single gag. Terry waited until he had his face against the base of his cock before he let off another giant fart, listening to Caleb groan in stinky pleasure, and his son followed suit, sending him another fart of his own right into Terry’s face.

Terry was close, and Caleb could tell–his father’s big cock was gushing precum like it always did when he was about to shoot. Terry started to shake, his fat belly jiggling and shuddering as he came, burst after burst of jizz shooting into his son’s mouth, and he swallowed all of it down, and then when he finally relaxed, he let out another massive fart…except it wasn’t just a fart this time.

Terry felt the shit squirt out of his ass and squish between his cheeks as he tried to hold it back, but he wasn’t able to do anything about it, because he was still trapped between the chair and his son’s ass. He groped for the lever and was able to push himself back so he was free, and Caleb unstraddled himself from the recliner, and then took a sniff and said, “Damn that one was stinkier than usual.”

Terry just blushed, and without saying anything, raised the recliner back up and hefted himself out of the chair, and when Caleb saw the brown streak on the chair, he realized what must have happened, and he just looked shocked. Terry didn’t notice, he had waddled off immediately, unable to believe he’d lost control like that, and hurried into the downstairs bathroom, where he lumbered over and sat down on the toilet, unable to believe he’d just shat all over his favorite chair. The same damn chair his dad had fucked him on, and smoked his cigar cock…right?

Terry tried to figure out where that memory had come from, but he just couldn’t. It didn’t make any sense at all. I mean…Caleb had been…his dad? And he’d had a cigar and pipe…

His head was hurting, but instead of retreating, he pushed in further, trying to separate out what had happened to him over the last few hours. He could…remember cooking dinner, but his son hadn’t been as big, and fatter. And before that, upstairs, hadn’t they…fucked? But none of those things actually seemed real–what was real was his massive, hairy and filthy redneck son, and he, his fat, sweaty equally filthy redneck dad…right?

He did his best to wipe his ass, but gave up pretty quick–he was just too big to reach around well enough, and why was he so embarrassed by what had happened? It wouldn’t be the first time he’d shat himself on accident–he and his son were trading farts so often that things had a way of slipping out on occasion, he thought with a chuckle. But then why couldn’t he ever remember doing it in the past?

“Hey Pa,” Caleb said, knocking on the bathroom door, “You alright in there?”

“Yeah,” Terry said, jus’ cleanin up.”

“Oh…” Caleb said, and after a pause said, “You…you uh, need any help?”

“No Caleb, I got it,” Terry said.

Then, the bathroom door opened anyway, and Caleb was there in the doorway, a grin on his face that Terry didn’t like the look of…and a massive hard on sticking straight towards Terry. “You sure? I think I know how to help out.”

Before Terry could do anything, Caleb had grabbed him by his fat gut, swung him around, and bent him over the bathroom counter, before slamming his cock up his dad’s ass. “Caleb! What the fuck, I’m not in the fuckin’ mood boy!”

Caleb, however, wasn’t listening, he was just fucking, and from the look on his face…he was down right enjoying the sensation of fucking his dad’s still shitty hole, and all Terry could feel was..disgust. “Caleb! Caleb, get the fuck off of me!” He screamed, and shoved himself back against his big brute of a son, who stumbled back, his shitty cock coming free of his dad’s hole.

“What the hell dad? What the fuck’s up with ya?”

“I fuckin’ said no, boy!” Terry hollered, “Now git up in yer goddamn room!”

“Why the fuck should I?” Caleb shouted back, “You’re not the fuckin’ boss a me!”

“I am yer father, boy, ‘n if I git anymore fuckin’ lip from you, yer gonna fuckin’ regret it.”

The two men glared at each other for a moment, before Caleb relented, and left the bathroom, squeezing his way up the staircases to his room, and slamming the door behind him, and then Terry let himself collapse to the floor. He honestly hadn’t expected him to stop–and Terry knew that his son was big enough that if he’d really wanted to keep going–he would have. Fuck, Caleb hadn’t always been like that, what happened to the sweet chubby loner he’d been when he was a teenager? Now, he was this hulk in his mid-twenties, still living with his dad–he needed a damn job, and a life!

Something he’d thought stuck out to Terry though–Caleb hadn’t been a chubby teenager–he hadn’t been chubby ever in his life. But still, he had a…clearish image of a son–his son, sweet hairless face, pudgy body, on the short side…but he couldn’t actually say when the image was from, because…well, it had never happened, right?

No, it had happened–it must have. But when? Again, Terry found himself looking through these impossibly tinted glass walls at the edge of his vision, like if he could turn his head fast enough and squint, he’d see something different, some other reality than his own, just as real as his…but impossible to access. But this wasn’t really right was it? He hadn’t always been this fat, filthy redneck, had he? Fuck, he needed a smoke. He got up and returned to where he’d set his pipe, finding it had gone out, and he relit it. He didn’t sit in the recliner, but just paced the room, puffing his pipe, wondering what to do about Caleb.

They needed to set boundaries–he needed to reassert himself as the father here. Sure, he loved having sex with his son–of course he did, but if he said no…well, Caleb had to respect that. There just weren’t any ifs, ands, or buts about that. And he needed to get a job–no more working out all day every day. And he needed to start picking up after himself, he figured, looking around at the cluttered den–the place was a sty. Sure, neither he nor Caleb were the cleanest guys on the planet–hell, hardly so–but they could still make an effort to improve. He smoked the rest of his pipe down, and then cleaned it out. He’d let Caleb sweat it out enough by now, he figured. Hopefully he’d had a chance to jack off, think about what he did, and realize what he’d done wrong, and they could have a conversation like real men, instead of a tantrum or argument.

He set his pipe back up on the rack, and then sighed, letting out a big belch. There wasn’t any use putting it off any longer. He hefted himself up the two staircases, pausing at the top of the second to catch his breath, before heading to his son’s room, and knocking. “Caleb, are ya in there? I’d like tah have a talk wit’ ya.”

“Sure thing dad, come on in.”

To Be Continued

My New Suspenders Part 2

I don’t know what happened, I just don’t know. One second, I was closing and locking the door, and then the next…the next I was back inside, but I knew time had passed, the light was different through the windows, but where had I gone?

I looked down and saw I was holding a shopping bag, but it didn’t have any food in it–apparently I’d never made it to the store. Looking inside, I saw a small wooden box, and a few pouches of some black dried plant. I thought it was tea at first, but when I smelled it I knew–it was tobacco, and in the box, a pipe.I just stared at it, and my mouth felt funny for some reason, and then I was fumbling it out of the box and hastily tamping the tobacco into the bowl, and I have just enough time to wonder what the hell I’m doing before I light it and take a deep draw of smoke…

***

Fuck! I’m shooting, and the room, the room is so smoky, and I’m at the computer, and I’m chatting with him again. I blacked out again I realize, and stand up, and see that I’m still dressed in what I was wearing, the cum soaking into my shirt, and try to pull the pipe from my mouth, but it won’t budge…and I feel something new–hair. I rush to the bathroom, and I see that I’m changing again–a thick beard has already filled in all over my face, but I still have most of my hair, thankfully.

My pants are tight at my waist, and I loosen my suspenders. My gut is growing yet again, and I know it won’t stop until I grow out of these clothes too. Panicking, I rush back to the computer, puffing a trail of smoke behind me, and see the last message is an address. I don’t want to go, but what choice do I have, really? He has me, and he knows it. I grab my coat and leave, hoping this whole situation doesn’t get much worse.

***

I find my way there, and it’s a house–nothing strange about it aside from the fact that it’s a big damn house, and I stand in the yard for a few minutes, watching it, looking for any sign of life. My clothes are tight on my body now, and the suspenders are almost at their loosest. It takes me a few minutes to realize my hand is in the pocket of my jacket, gripping a key. The house looks empty, I haven’t seen anyone in the windows, and so with a deep breath of pipe smoke (fuck I love smoking now, and it’s starting to turn me on more and more–I don’t think I can stop, even if I wanted to) and head for the door, test the key, find that it works, and step inside.

The house is indeed empty–but completely furnished. I wander through the first floor, and find a standard living room and kitchen, a dining room and den–where on one wall is a spacious rack of pipes. I go upstairs, and find a master’s bedroom with the closets full of men’s clothing. I try to adjust the suspenders again, but they’re at the very end, and I find I can at last remove all my clothes. I look at myself in a mirror on the wall–I’m fat, and hairy–so god damn hairy. I look at least forty now, and the clothes in the closet, well, they seem even older. I try to leave the bedroom, but find the door has shut behind me, and locked. I pound on it, but it doesn’t open, and I look at the closet. I know what I’m supposed to do, but I don’t want to–unfortunately, I don’t have much choice soon. My pipe is going out, and as soon as it does, I know I’m going to have to find something to smoke, and fast. What choice do I have? I start pawing though the closet, looking for something to wear.

***

To be continued: Part 3 incoming in a bit.

Mirror, Mirror

Commissioned by Anonymous

As soon as he heard the car pull out of the garage, the door lowering behind Howard as he drove off, Drew hurried upstairs. He’d been planning this for about a week now, but hadn’t had the perfect opportunity, but now Howard was out all afternoon, giving Drew plenty of time to work. He’d just graduated from college and was living at home with his parents, his job prospects grim. Drew had been hard pressed to find a job even for just the summer, when Howard, a neighbor, had offered him some cash if he helped him out around the house. Drew hadn’t been very happy about it–Howard had always kind of creeped him out, this old, fat, pipe smoking man who seemed to never take his eyes off him, but he paid him fourteen bucks an hour under the table, and so Drew had taken the job–and then he’d learned about the safe.

Howard, it seemed, was a bit paranoid when it came to his money. He didn’t trust it to a bank–instead, he had a massive safe in his study, which Drew saw every Friday when the older man pulled out a massive wad of twenties and gave him his wages. Inside, he saw piles and piles of bills–more money than Howard would probably ever be able to spend, and if Drew could slip away with just a bit of it, he’d be out of debt and living comfortably states away before Howard even knew it was missing. But there was a problem–the safe could only be opened with Howard’s voice and thumbprint, and Drew had no idea how to get around that little problem.

He might have never noticed it, if Howard hadn’t spilled the coffee on his shirt that day–the older man had been so embarrassed, he’d urged Drew to give him his shirt so he could wash it quickly before the stain set in the fabric, and gave him a different one to wear for the time being, before asking Drew to carry some junk up to the attic for him. He’d noticed the elaborately framed mirror leaning against the wall, but as soon as he walked past, something strange happened–the new shirt, which had been rather loose on him, suddenly felt tighter, and in the mirror, Drew gasped. He’d gotten fat, somehow. He’d grown a gut and two small moobs, big enough to fill out the shirt he was wearing, and worse, when he pulled the shirt off, his body didn’t change back.

Sure, he’d panicked at first, but he reasoned that it must have something to do with who had previously owned the shirt, since he’d grown to fit it so perfectly, and he’d snuck downstairs, gotten his own shirt from the washer, and back in front of the mirror in the attic, his own shirt thankfully restored his old body, good as new. Still, that little surreal experience had set the wheels in his head turning, and now he knew just what to do to get his hands on Howard’s piles of cash.

He threw Howard’s suit up into the attic and followed up after it, picking up the various pieces. He probably didn’t need to wear all of it, but he wasn’t sure if a few pieces would change him enough to get into the safe. It would be better to just wear it all, it order to get as complete a transformation as possible, even if the thought of becoming Howard was disgusting. Still, there was no other feasible solution, so he pulled on the massive pants and button down shirt, put on the jacket, swimming in the piles of fabric, slipped into some shoes and lastly pulled on the gloves and glasses he’d taken from among Howard’s spares, before stepping in front of the mirror.

He looked ridiculous–the clothes were hanging off his much smaller frame, and if it wasn’t for the suspenders attached to the pants, he didn’t think he would have been able to even hold them up effectively. Hell, he couldn’t even get a good look at himself through the glasses he was wearing–Howard must not be able to see anything without them, but suddenly, he felt his head ache for a moment, and he could see perfectly clearly through the lenses–though as soon as it happened, he wished that he couldn’t. Like it or not, his plan was definitely working. He could feel his body beginning to shift and grow outward, his lithe, muscular body growing older, pounds and pounds of fat packing their way under his skin. In a matter of seconds, he could stop holding onto the clothes to keep them in place, because his body was fitting them better and better. His young face started taking on the craggy wrinkles which covered Howard’s face, his eyes turned hazel, hair sucking its way back into his head leaving him with his boss’s nearly white horseshoe, and then he felt the changes halt, and he was staring right into Howard’s face.

“Well, that certainly worked perfectly,” Drew said, then covered his mouth with one gloved hand, “Oh my goodness, I sound just like him.”

He did sound just like him–but not just his voice–’Oh my goodness?’ Who even said that anymore? Well, he’d heard Howard say it a couple of times when Drew probably would have cussed, but he just passed it off on Howard being an old fogey. He ran his hands along Howard’s full, bloated stomach, eyes locked on his own in the mirror, and found himself missing his youth all the more–his flat stomach, his pert ass–oh yes, damn if he hadn’t had the nicest ass on the block, he could just imagine what it might be like to fuck, provided he could get hard enough to pop the young boy’s cherry, though he’d be more than willing to simply have the chance to suck the boy’s big cock dry.

Drew shook his head, realizing that he’d just been lost in thought, lusting over himself, and he realized that apparently the mirror was changing more than just his physical appearance, but also his mind–and he stepped away before he could lose more of himself. Thinking, he was happy to find that none of his memories had disappeared–just that he was acting more…Howard like, which was disgusting. His old hands were shaking now, and he felt a strange knot of anxiety in his chest that simply wouldn’t go away. He patted the pockets of his suit, trying to figure out what was missing, when he realized he didn’t have a pipe! God, did he need a smoke. As disgusting as that was, the habit was just too strong to resist, not to mention his new body’s overwhelming tobacco addiction. He’d just pop down to the humidor where Howard kept his tobacco, and take a bowl to smoke, before emptying the safe, changing back, and getting out of here. Careful to avoid looking in the mirror, he stashed his clothing and carefully climbed back down the ladder into the house proper.

He had another fight with himself over smoking the pipe, which he eventually lost. It was the one thing he’d always found the most disgusting about Howard, the stink of tobacco which clung to the entire house, and he rarely seen the old man without a smokestack clamped between his teeth. Still, this body craved it, and before long, he was letting Howard’s hands guide him, as he tamped and lit a moderately sized pipe and took a deep breath into his lungs, and he hated how good it felt to smoke. Still, with a pipe in his mouth, he could finally focus on what actually mattered here–the money. He crept through the house, which was silly, since he knew Howard had left, but in the study, the nerves in his belly nearly made him sick, but it was flawless, the safe happily accepting his elderly thumb and gravelly voice as Howard’s own. However, it was after that when everything went wrong.

He swung open the safe and saw it was empty–the stacks of cash were gone–all of them. Had Howard found out about his plan? How could he have–there was no way…and then he realized he’d been played. How had he discovered the mirror? Howard. Who had given him the perfect opportunity to use it? Howard. “Oh fudge!” he shouted, and hurried as fast as Howard’s body could waddle, making his way back up to the attic but it was too late. His old body–his hot, slender body–was right there, dressed in his clothes, gazing into the mirror, grinning away.

“No! Give me back my clothes!” Drew wheezed, and gave a hacking cough. He’d lost the pipe somewhere along the way, but the old body he was stuck in just couldn’t keep up.

“Oh? So you checked the safe already? I assume you didn’t find what you were looking for? Well, don’t worry, ‘Howard’, I already stashed it away, and it’ll certainly go towards paying off that college debt of yours, and quite the nice life afterwards, I’m sure.”

“I’m not Howard! Give me back my clothes, you–” Drew said, and lurched towards his old body, who shoved him back onto the floor, and then he picked up a hammer and lifted it up, ready to smash the mirror to bits. “No!” Drew shouted, “No, please–don’t, I can’t stay like this, I can’t, please!”

Howard smirked, “Well, then how about this? I won’t smash your precious mirror, if you wrap those fat, faggot lips around my cock and suck me off, eh Howard? I know how often you used to fantasize about me, my hot body,” Howard said, lifting up Drew’s shirt, and listening to the soft groan the old man let off uncontrollably, “Of course, I’m straight now, but I wouldn’t mind seeing you suck me off, you disgusting fat fuck. Better hurry though, I don’t know how much longer I can resist swinging this hammer…”

Drew lurched up onto his knees and crawled over, yanking down his old shorts and taking his cock into his mouth, finding this body well practiced at giving blowjobs, much to his own disgust. Just like smoking the pipe, he was even more disturbed to discover that he liked it–the taste and feel of a young, rock hard cock slamming down his throat was just thrilling. Drew realized then that he was still in front of the mirror, ingraining Howard’s habits and proclivities deeper into his own psyche, and he started sucking harder, before he was forced to act entirely like Howard from now on, trapped in this old body forever.

Howard only lasted a minute, before shooting his load into Drew’s old mouth, who quickly backed off to the side, away from the mirror, and Howard dropped the hammer to the ground and dashed off laughing, driving off with Howard’s piles of cash, and leaving Drew alone in the attic. Still, he had the mirror–it was intact. All he had to do was get some of his clothes from his house, and he could change back. Of course, he had no idea how he would be able to get them–hell, Howard was probably over there already, his perfect copy–no, he had to figure out something else.

He sat up in the attic for close to half an hour, wishing he had a pipe, but refusing to give into the desire, trying to figure out a plan. However, his thoughts were interrupted by the sound of someone pounding on the front door, and a shouting, thickly accented voice, “Howard, we know you’re in there! Give us the money Howard, or you aren’t going to like what happens next, or where your body is going to turn up! Fear gripped his gut–who in the hell was that? The pounding resumed, and a moment after, he heard a boot slam into the door, breaking the lock, as a group of men charged into the house, and he hid in the only place he could think–behind the mirror.

It took them close to an hour before they reached the attic, and they hauled him out from behind the mirror. The men were mostly middle aged, and from the look of their faces–Russian. “Look, I’m not Howard, please, you have to believe me!” Drew said, terrified when he saw that several of them were wielding bats, the ringleader leveling a gun at his head.

“Where the fuck is the money, you fat old faggot? The safe’s empty–what did you fucking do with our money?”

“He took it! Howard took my body, and he took your money! It was the mirror, this fucking mirror!” Drew said, and he started sobbing on the ground, the mafia looking from the broken old man to the large ornate mirror in front of them, quizzically.

No one is entirely sure what happened to Howard after that–when he’d been found missing the next day, and the house ransacked, the police assumed it was a home burglary turned murderous, though his body never turned up. Oddly enough, other than the empty safe, nothing was taken, aside from something in the attic, something large and wide, which had been propped up against the wall, something like a very large mirror.

“Alright, I have more cookies for you!” your friend said from the kitchen.

“What? More? But I can’t…” you say, but he’s already out in the living room and setting the tray piled high with snickerdoodles down next to you, and they smell so divine. You have one in your mouth before you can stop yourself.

“I’ll get you some more milk too, just a second,” he says, and disappears back into the kitchen. Ten cookies are gone before he comes back with a tall pitcher–you just can’t stop yourself. This has been going on for a few hours now–him baking these amazing cookies, you eating them with an apparently bottomless supply of milk. He leaves, and alone again, you notice something in the TV playing some Christmas movie–a strange reflection in the screen. You reach for the remote and turn it off–and get a better look in the black screen.

“Ho Ho Holy shit!” You exclaim. That isn’t you there on the couch, that’s some fat old man with a giant white beard.

Your friend runs back in from the kitchen, “You weren’t supposed to notice yet!”

“What in the hell did you do to me?” you shout, looking down at your clothing stretched tight across your fat frame, but your friend has already grabbed something from a side table–a pipe, ready packed with tobacco, and he shoves it in your mouth and lights it. You inhale, the cinnamon and clove laced tobacco making your face numb…and you feel…really good, all of a sudden.

“Here, let’s get you out of those clothes–they’re too tight.”

You let your friend undress you, and you stare down in disbelief at your new body. The tobacco is going right to your head, and it feels so good to smoke your pipe and rub your hairy belly with your hands…

“Now go sit down, finish your cookies and milk, and smoke your pipe, Santa.”

“Ho Ho Hokay…” you say, and plop back down on the couch.

Your friend works in the kitchen for a bit and comes out to find the pile gone, the pitcher empty, and your pipe finished. He cleans, refills and lights it for you, then gives you a deep kiss, and you wrap your flabby arms around him and pull him into your lap.

“So tell me, have you been a good boy this year?” you say with a lecherous grin.

“Oh yes Santa, I’ve been very good all year, just for you.”

“Well in that case, Santa has a special sack for you. Why don’t you suck on it for a bit?”

Your friend gets down between your legs, and sucks on your big balls, your dick pressed against his face, smearing precum across his forehead. Merry Christmas to all, and to all a good fucking tonight, you think, and ram your candy cane down his throat.

Image Vignette: Replacement Parts

“Alright, and here’s the guest room, where you can stay. It’s a bit…tight, I’ll admit. It used to me my…uh…friend’s workshop, so pardon the mess.” Marty said, and scratched the back of his head in slight embarrassment as Ryan looked around the room with some dismay. It certainly would have never passed inspection back in the Navy, but it would have to make do.

“This looks fine,” Ryan said, “I just hope you’re not expecting me to start right now,” he added with a smile. The rain outside was horrendous. Marty’s truck had gotten stuck in a patch of deep mud, and they’d both had to hike a half mile through the heavy rain to the farmhouse. Ryan’s clothes were soaked, and Marty had dropped his bag in a puddle, meaning he had nothing dry to wear. Marty had been just as soaked, but the short, stocky redneck had already taken a moment to change into a dirty white undershirt, cut off flannel vest and some jeans.

“Hah, nah, I wouldn’ make ya do that. Tomorrow mornin’ will be fine, if the weather clears,” Marty said, “You can just focus on getting settled this evening. Um…How about I go get these dryin’,” he said, referring to Ryan’s bag, “and ya can strip out a those. There’s probably some a Bill’s old work clothes in the closet there ya can wear fer the time being.”

Ryan heaved a bit of a sigh, and looked around at the cramped space again. Two tours of duty, and this is where he’s ended up. He remembered when he’d talked to a recruitment officer, who had sworn the military was the best track into college and a high paying job there was–instead, here he was, working on some rural farm as a mechanic and handyman to get by. Still, he at least had a roof over his head, his youth, and his health, if little else, though he would definitely catch a cold if he didn’t change out of these sopping clothes. He stripped down and rummaged through the closet, but all he could find in there were a pair of battered overalls, which from the musty smell, hadn’t been washed or worn in quite a while. Still, he didn’t have a whole lot of options, so he stripped down to just his jockstrap and ball cap and then slipped the overalls on, cringing a bit from the crusty material.

They were far too large for his frame, even if he had put on a bit of a belly since leaving the navy. Whoever Bill was, he hadn’t been a small guy. Ryan had asked Marty a few questions about Bill on the way over, but he’d been pretty cryptic and didn’t appear to want to talk about it much. Apparently they’d been friends for a while. Marty had taken care of the farm work, while Bill handled the broken down equipment, the housework and selling goods in town, until Bill had died of a heart attack a few months before. Marty was still pretty young, and couldn’t keep up both sides of the business himself, so he’d hired Ryan to help him out in exchange for a small salary, room and board.

“Hey Ryan! Dinner’s on the table!” Marty called out, and Ryan, hiking up the legs of the overalls a bit so he didn’t trip, made his way downstairs into the kitchen, where Marty was busy laying out a massive spread of food, including a roast chicken, a massive bowl of mashed potatoes and heaps of gravy, bread, stuffing, the works.

“Ryan took a seat and shook his head, “Hey man, you didn’t have to cook all of this for me. I tend to be a light eater.”

“Nonsense,” Marty said, “Ya need tah keep yer strength up if yer gonna get to all the work I need done around here. Now eat up while I get you something to drink. But hey, no hats at the table.”

Ryan cocked one eyebrow, but Marty was serious, so he took off his cap and set it aside, before taking a generous portion of everything so that he wouldn’t seem rude, and looked over at Marty mixing up something on the counter. “What are you making?” he asked.

“Huh…oh! Uh, nothing much. Just a little whisky drink–a toast to old friends and new beginnings, eh?” Marty said, bringing over two glasses and handing one to Ryan. They clinked glasses and knocked them back–and the taste was far stronger and bitter than Ryan had been expecting, but it went down all the same.

“Dang, what the hell was that?” Ryan said, sputtering a bit.

“Aw, not much. Just a bit of mah home brew. Ya like it? I can get ya some more.”

Ryan really didn’t want any more, but decided against refusing Marty’s hospitality. He dug into the food on his plate, and found he was hungrier than he’d thought. He found himself taking bigger and bigger bites of the delicious food, and by the time Marty had returned, he polished off half of what he’d put on.

“Here ya are man. What, that all yer havin’? Come on, eat up! It’ll help ya grow,” Marty said with a wink, shoved the glass into Ryan’s hand and started piling his plate high. Without really thinking, Ryan knocked the second drink back as well, and the taste was easier now that he was expecting it, and without a word, dug into the mound of chicken and potatoes on his plate. Marty sat across from him, eating a bit, but mostly watching Ryan and grinning, getting up on occasion to bring him another drink, which Ryan took without objection. By the the end, Ryan had finished off the spread aside from the small bit Marty had eaten, and he leaned back in his chair, rubbing his gut and let off a big belch. “Dang Marty, that was some good shit,” he slurred, “Couldn’ eat another bite.”

“Sorry, but I still have dessert fer us,” Marty said, and brought over a deep dish apple pie, “I know how much ya love mah apple pie after all,” he whispered in Ryan’s ear, who unable to help himself, he took a fork and dug in, not even bothering to slice it. “Let me go get ya another drink,” Marty added, bringing over the rest of the whisky bottle, letting Ryan take swigs from it between giant bites. Marty stood behind him and started running his hands up and down Ryan’s front, both under and over the overalls he was wearing, making Ryan increasingly uncomfortable, but he was also feeling a bit…turned on. He could feel his cock growing uncomfortable in his jockstrap, and he found himself wondering why he was wearing it. He didn’t usually wear underwear, did he? The room was spinning around him, and he tried to focus, but between Marty rubbing his exposed nipples and the delicious pie he had to finish, his thoughts just kept slipping away from his fingers.

When he finally finished, Ryan leaned back in his chair, more stuffed than he’d ever been in his whole life, and suddenly, Marty grabbed his cheeks and kissed him, making Ryan sputter and twist away. “What in tarnation–I ain’t no faggot, fucker!” Ryan said, unable to tell if he was slurring his words, or if his voice really had just come out as a deep, southern twang.

“Well I guess someone ain’t quite ready yet,” Marty said, grabbed Ryan by the arm and helped him up from the chair onto unsteady feet, “Why don’ we go have a sit fer a bit, and relax after that big meal–that sound good, Bill?”

“Mah name ain’t Bill–it’s Ryan…” Ryan muttered, as he stumbled along next to Marty. His body felt strange all of a sudden, like he was too tall, but also a bit front heavy. He passed by a mirror in the hallway, and through his vision was blurred, it didn’t look quite right. He hadn’t had a beard before, had he? Certainly not the bushy light brown one covering his cheeks and chin. And hadn’t these overalls fit badly when he’d put them on? Now though, they felt very comfortable, holding his big gut just right, and he hadn’t stepped on the pant legs once. Marty flopped him down on the couch, and Ryan tried to struggle up, but he felt so weak and heavy. His jockstrap was cutting into his waist, and he really did need to take it off. He’d feel so much better without it on…and yet, another voice was telling him to keep it on, and take off the overalls. But why would he take them off? They were his favorite clothes after all–he wore them pretty much every day. Besides, Marty loved how he looked in them. Then again, Marty loved how he looked in everything…

Marty came back a few moments later, holding a big, bent pipe in his hand. “Here, I know how much you love a good smoke after dinner.” He lit the pipe and then passed it to Ryan, who took a big draw, and let out a big plume of smoke with a sigh.

“Yeah Marty, that’s the ticket. Thanks…” Ryan said, “I…I love ya…Marty.”

“I love you too, Bill.”

“Marty…Marty what’s happenin’ tah me? Why do I feel so strange…” Ryan said, still puffing on the pipe as his eyes swept the room.

“Don’t worry Bill, everythin’ will be back tah normal soon enough,” Marty said, leaned in for another kiss, but Ryan pushed him away. “God damn it, what the fuck is wrong wit ya Bill?”

“I told ya, my name ain’t Bill, it’s Ryan, ‘n I ain’t a fag!” Ryan cried, and tried to sit up from the couch, but the jockstrap cut into him suddenly, like it was trying growing tighter, making him cry out in pain. It felt like it was searing into his skin suddenly, and Marty undid one of the straps off Ryan’s overalls, reached down and felt the offending material.

“So that’s the problem–someone didn’ strip down all the way!” Marty said, “I can fix that.” He ran to the kitchen and came back with some shears, but Ryan fought back against him weakly, so Marty grabbed Ryan’s nipples and twisted them, making his cry out in pleasure as he felt his cock swell. “Now listen here Ryan, ya’re just here tah be some god damn replacement parts, ya got it? I ain’t gonna spend another day without Bill, so yer just gonna have to give up, got it? Now smoke that pipe ‘n hold still!”

“No…No please…please don’,” Ryan said, as Marty cut away his underwear and pulled them out, but as soon as they were gone, Ryan let out a sigh of relief. Fuck he felt better–why had he wanted to keep that jock on so badly anyway? He looked over at Marty, and with his hand reached out and cupped Marty’s crotch, giving it a light squeeze. “Come here ya lug, ‘n give me some sugar…” he said, and Marty, grinning, leaned over and kissed Ryan, his beard growing in faster as they kissed, sharing the smoke from Bill’s old pipe. However, as they were kissing, Ryan felt his balls start to heat up, and soon they hurt enough for him to let out a moan of pain.

“Wh..what is it Bill? What’s wrong?”

“Mah fuckin’ balls, man–fuck! Feels like someone got ‘em caught in a vice!” Ryan fumbled with the fly on the overalls, opened it up, and hauled out his cock. It had grown thicker and longer, as well as growing a meaty foreskin over the head, but his balls hurt more by the second.

Marty however, was overjoyed. The potion was actually working–the witch had been right. Now all Bill had to do was cum, expelling the remnants of Ryan, and he’d have Bill, his redneck, the love of his life back, and they’d never be parted again. He got down on his knees and swallowed Ryan’s new tool to the hilt, making him scream in ecstacy. It only took a couple of good sucks before Ryan was cumming and spasming, releasing his lifesource into Marty’s mouth, who spit it on the floor, and then the body on the couch collapsed back, limply.

Bill? Buddy?” Marty said, shaking the big man’s shoulder, “Hey! Wake up!”

The man let out a groan and grabbed his head. “Fuck man…what the hell? What…what did ya do?”

“I brought ya back Bill…you’re home.” Marty said, and pulled him into a big hug, “I love ya so much, I ain’t never gonna let ya leave me like that ever again.”