Smoke Spirits (Part 2)

He laid down in his bed and tried to get to sleep, but every time he got comfortable, the cough would start up again–mild at first, but after a few minutes he got going and couldn’t stop. There was something in his lungs that he had to get up. He thought it was mucus at first, but it felt…alive somehow, squirming about inside him, until with a last hack, smoke gushed out of his mouth and nose, and hovered in the air in front of him. He tried to wave it away and disperse it, but all he managed to do was sever the connection between him and the small cloud of smoke; when he did, the cloud pulled in tighter, and created a shape hovering a few inches from him. In the dark room, he couldn’t see very well, but it looked like the lower part of a face, from the upper lip down, and seemed almost scruffy or hairy–perhaps it was just the nature of the smoke that made it seem that way. What he did see, in the dark, was the lips of this strange, floating face turn up in a smirk, before the cloud drifted closer and planted itself on his mouth…kissing him, somehow.

It was warm, and it was alive. It didn’t feel like flesh at all, but it was solid, and quite forceful, a dry, whispy tongue prying open Douglas’ mouth and exploring it, leaving the entire surface coated with a fine layer of ash, but as disturbed as he was, as terrified as he was, as certain as he was that this was all some hallucination or fever dream, Douglas liked it. He shivered as the mouth licked it’s way down, nibbling at his neck, pushing him back so he was lying on the bed, the smoky mouth hovering a moment over each nipple, warming them with its heated breath, before dropping lower still, until it was licking and sucking at the head of his cock. What he felt then–it was difficult to describe.

The mouth was drawing his cock like Douglas would draw his cigarette, pulling air through it–not that there was really air in his cock, but something was being pulled out, and whatever it was, it felt amazing. Each time the mouth inhaled, Douglas would spasm, groan and quiver in pleasure until after a few minutes he came in a monstrous gush, with more force than he could remember having. He clutched the sheets of his bed as it overwhelmed him, allowing it to ebb back–he raised his head, expecting to see his cum everywhere–but his body, the floor, the sheets– all were dry as a bone, aside from his sweat. The mouth was gone, or almost gone. One last wisp of smoke remained visible, as it slid into his urethra before vanishing back inside him, like it had never even been there at all. Had it been there? Everything seemed so hazy, and more than anything he wanted a cigarette, but the mere thought of putting smoke inside him suddenly made his stomach turn. He got back into bed and tried to forget about what had happened, telling himself it had just been…nothing at all. He was still coughing a bit, but not as violently as before, and he fell asleep soon after lying down.

The next morning at around ten, he woke up feeling like he had five days into his last attempt to quit cold turkey. Shakes, nausea, irritable and angry. He grabbed his cigarettes from the table, threw on a shirt and some pajamas, before heading down and out into the backyard for a smoke he desperately needed. Even though the sky was clear it was chilly out in the shadow of the house–he smoked one cigarette quickly, and when that barely took the edge off, he started right in on a second. Thinking that might be enough, he went inside and joined his housemates for a cup of coffee, as they were just then waking up as well, but halfway through the cup, the itch started up again, and he was back outside for a third, and then a fourth cigarette. What in the hell was wrong with him? He’d been cutting back pretty well, managing to keep to about half a pack a day–but it wasn’t even noon and he’d blown through a fifth of a pack already. He felt gross, but the itch was already ramping up again.

“Don’t you ever give those things a rest?” Douglas looked over and saw Pete had stepped outside and joined him. “I was going to do some studying in the sun, but don’t really want to if you’re going to be smoking all day.”

Douglas sighed, but didn’t reply. Pete had shown himself to be the health crusader of the house. Howard and Steven hadn’t put up much of a fuss, but Pete made sure to get at least one jab in at his smoking every day. “Calm down, I’m almost finished, and you can have the patio to yourself.”

Pete sat down at the table there, and Douglas moved to the other end of the concrete, making sure he was downwind as he exhaled a lungful of smoke and…watched it blow away in the completely wrong direction, into the wind. He looked over and watched it, confused, as the plume formed a snaking trail through the air towards Pete, formed itself into a hand, gave Pete’s cheek a gentle stroke, making him flinch, before, sliding gently into his nose and mouth–Pete’s head falling forward as it did, and then, Douglas watched Pete’s head swivel over and stare right at him, but something was wrong. His eyes–they seemed cloudy, like his irises and pupils were coated with a layer of smoke. Pete stood up, a bit unsteady, and started walking towards him.

Smoke Spirits (Part 1)

The crowd from the concert noisily filled out onto the sidewalk and street. It was quarter to midnight, and if people were quick, they could catch the five or six little joints that stayed open that late, mostly to cater to the young, tired fans. Douglas, however, shoved his hands in the pockets of his pants, looked around, and joined a small stream of people who were heading around the side of the building, towards the back, where a bus was idling. A roadie was back there–a big fellow, at least six foot three, tattoos running all over his hairy body to his neck, chuffing on a cigar of all things, telling the crowd that it would be at least an hour and a half before the band came out for autographs.

This news was enough to deter a good chunk of the people, leaving about a score behind, milling around behind the building in the cold, including Douglas, who walked up to the roadie while he was leaning by a door, smoking his cigar slowly.

“No private audiences,” the guy said as Douglas approached.

“I was just going to ask for a light,” he said, holding up a cigarette.

“Heh, sure thing.” he hauled out a zippo from one of his pants pocket, Douglas leaned in closer to the roadie’s massive frame, enjoying the heat coming off of him, got his light, puffed a few times, and then stayed close enough to give the guy an idea or two. The roadie remained aloof, but not quite disinterested or oblivious, like a straight guy would be.

“How much longer?”

“Probably an hour–longer, if you keep asking.”

“Hey, I’m just trying to make conversation,” Douglas said, smiling, leaning his smaller, lean frame against the wall beside the roadie. “Are you local? I haven’t seen you working here before.”

“Travelling with the band. I…like to be on the road.”

“Understandable. Still, that’s a lot of work. Not much time for relaxation.”

The roadie was sizing him up, which was an improvement. He shrugged, and they just smoked for a bit, the fumes thicker in the cold and condensation.

“If you don’t want to talk, we can do something else to pass the time,” Douglas said.

“Rather blunt.”

“Easier than beating the bush. I saw you on scruff earlier.”

“I don’t fuck around with smokers, sorry.”

Douglas pushed off the wall, and just stared at him. “Excuse me? What’s that thing in your mouth then?”

“Don’t have to explain why to you. It’s for your own good anyway.”

“So you are at least interested, if it’s the smoking that’s the turn off.”

The roadie took a deep inhale off his cigar…and shuddered in a rather peculiar fashion. It didn’t look like something caused by cold, but rather something…pleasurable. “Look, you should get out of here. I’m done talking.”

“Well, so am I,” Douglas said, still a bit drunk off his three overpriced beers, “and your excuses are lame. So, what would you like me to do, then?”

Two more jets of smoke shot from his nose, more than should have been possible, and then bent against the wind, whisping around their faces, shrouding them, pulling them closer. The roadie leaned over, looking almost like he was fighting the desire, and they kissed a moment, before grabbing Douglas by the wrist, and hauling him off down an alley. “Fine, but don’t think I didn’t try to warn you.”

The sex was better than average but odd–the roadie sucked him off, and when Douglas tried to reciprocate, the man shook his head. Instead, he gave the roadie a handjob while they made out–though it was more of a smoke out. For being so against smokers, he sure did love feeding Douglas that cigar smoke of his. Douglas had never tasted a cigar before–in fact, he wasn’t much of a fan of cigarettes, but he didn’t quite have the willpower to quit, but it was actually…surprisingly nice. It made his cigarettes taste like a week old slim jim, next to a nicely grilled steak. In the end, the guy didn’t even cum. He assured Douglas that he’d enjoyed himself all the same, but it was time for him to get back to the door. Douglas did stick around for the band, who appeared a few minutes after they finished. He got his autograph and then booked it without saying another word to the guy, or getting his name–but he did at least add him as a fave on Scruff. The roadie’s username was Bandgar–which made a bit more sense now. It was half past one at this point, the streets were dead aside from the derelicts, and Douglas lit another cigarette with his own lighter, and headed back towards his house, a few blocks away from campus, near the venue. He had a couple of coughing fits along the way–thinking it was just all that smoke during sex from Bandgar, he did his best to be as quiet as he could as he let himself into the house, not wanting to wake his three roommates.

The houses near campus were all part of the campus housing program–basically an upscale dorm system students could get into for a higher fee. Douglas had ended up with three other guys he didn’t know every well–a sophomore named Steven, another Junior like him named Pete, and lastly a senior named Howard. They’d only gotten back to campus the week before, and so they were all still just trying to get settled–Douglas had invited the other guys to go with him tonight, but none of them had been interested in the sort of alt-folk stuff Douglas was seeing. Granted, he wasn’t that interested either, but the vocalist was a burly, cuteass cub and the music was tolerable. Really, he would have rather fucked him–but he was definitely straight. Still, that roadie had been a good consolation prize. He got up to his room before he realized he still had the cigarette in his mouth. He cursed, and snuffed it out in an old coffee cup on his desk. None of his housemates were smokers, and they all thought his habit was pretty gross–and it was, but he didn’t need them pissed at him for smoking in the house, which was against campus policy anyway. He didn’t notice the wisp of smoke which left his throat as he yawned, and coughed again. Hoping he wasn’t getting sick, he fell into bed, thankful it was the weekend, and he could relax all Saturday and Sunday before getting back into the college grind again.

Warren’s Demons (Patreon Suggestion)

Each month, I’m going to be taking suggestions from people supporting my writing on Patreon, and turn those suggestions into stories! I might publish one or two here, but if you want to read the other ones, you can go here. Anyone giving at least a dollar can give suggestions, and see the resulting stories, and pledging $5 or $10 gets you even more exclusive content! Find out more on my page here.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Locker Room Spirit (Sketch)

No one thought anything strange was going on at first. Sure, there were several awkward incidents, as the spirit settled into the walls and lockers, the floor, the sauna, the toilets and the mirrors. As it investigated the space and the men inside it. Occasionally, as they were changing a man might…lose focus for a few moments, idly rubbing his cock, only to break from the odd trance a moment later, embarrassed but thinking little of it. But the spirit began to feed in earnest soon, gripping the place tighter as it gained strength, and before too much longer, things became a bit stranger–not that the men inside noticed anything wrong. In their minds, they would walk into the room, change, and leave, just like they always had. They might not remember the details particularly well, but it was just a locker room, after all…right?

However, as soon as they entered, the spirit would grip them, and begin bending them to it’s will, urging them to strip, urging them to become horny, urging them to cum. All around the room, men were on benches, kneeling on the floor, their hands wrapped around their cocks, standing around the drains, shooting their loads down them, and into the spirit’s gullet below, feeding it, allowing it to become stronger, and each time they shot, the spirit would grip them a bit tighter. Men who only occasionally bothered to change at the gym suddenly found themselves needing to go in every time, somehow…excited to be changing. It did seem strange to them, but harmless. But spirits like this one–they want to feed, yes, but more than that. They want to spread and expand, and to do that, well, let me tell you, it isn’t pretty, watching it happen to an unsuspecting person, not after all of these years doing this work.

Hopefully, I can catch them early, around this point. Pull the spirit out by the root, before it can do any real damage, but I can’t catch everything, and sometimes…sometimes these spirits are smart. And this one, it’s the smartest one I’ve seen in awhile, as I’ve been investigating it, watching it, watching the men enter and become its victims.

Spirits like this one, they can get you in two ways. The first is, in many ways, the better fate–at least in my opinion. Or perhaps, it just seems quicker. Certainly it’s the one most spirits prefer. The longer a human spends under the sway of a spirit, the deeper a hold the spirit has on the person. It can start eating away at their soul–their thoughts, dreams and desires–replacing it with the spirit’s instead. So, in time, the men who were in the locker room the most…well, they found their minds overwhelmed with desire for sex and cum and fucking. Men would enter the room to feed the spirit, and were often fucked and abused by these avatars in the process, until, in time, they were fully taken over, their original soul corrupted beyond any sort of recognition. Several bodybuilders–they were held in there for a week by the spirit, fucking each other nonstop as the spirit absorbed them, and then sent on their way, mindless, to seek out other places where the spirit might take root. It wasn’t enjoyable, putting them to rest, but there quite simply wasn’t anything human remaining inside them.

But the other fate–that I wouldn’t wish on anyone. Should someone be able to resist the spirit’s mental hold, and be able to recognize what’s happening within its domain, the only way they can be contained is physically. The men inside will secure them, and the spirit will begin to…incorporate their body into it’s own physical form. For two weeks now, a young man has been chained to the wall by the urinals. I…doubt he remembers being human at this point. All of his body has been sucked into the wall, leaving only his head, which has begun to contort, becoming identical to the other urinals beside it with each load of piss the men feed him and the spirit he is now connected with.

The spirit, in the end, is a simple mind, governed more by instinct than any real intellect, though the more men it absorbs, the smarter it becomes. I do, at least, have the advantage of surprise, and thankfully I found it before it had grown any larger, or I would have had a sizable challenge on my hands. Still, only a fool would run into a place like that, magic blazing. No, I have to size this thing up first, and that’s why I’m waiting for it to send out another drone it’s been preparing. I won’t kill this one, but merely capture it, so I can better understand the nature of this thing, and how best to contain it before it gets further out of hand. In fact, looking through my scrying pool, I can see the drone is preparing to leave now! If I hurry, I can intercept it, bring it back here, and proceed with my analysis.

Redneck Haunt (Part 3)

Jay didn’t last much longer at the smoke shop–a few weeks later, his manager caught him sleeping on the job for the last time, read him up and down the wall, and kicked his ass out. Jay tried to muster the energy to care, but he was too drained and exhausted to put up much of a fight any longer, and so he went home. He didn’t want to go there, and the thought of not having a job to go to for all night scared him in a way he couldn’t quite understand, but once he was inside, it was too hard to think about anything at all. It was about one in the morning, and he could hear something happening in Kerry’s room. He opened the door a crack, and saw his friend, on his knees, thrusting his hips into thin air. He was completely asleep, or at least his eyes were shut, and his mouth slack, his body seeming to move more like a puppet, than by any internal force or desire. Still, he was too tired to think much of it, and so he climbed into bed, and fell asleep almost immediately–the boy could sense him, but focused on his daddy for the rest of the night, only joining Jay once Kerry had woken for real, late, and hurried to get ready for work.

After that…Jay didn’t wake up much any more, and the boy drained him even further, now that he no longer had to worry about him having to leave the house for any reason, feeling the young man’s strength and life flowing into him with every load of cum. Kerry was too focused on what was happening to himself to focus much on Jay–his mind was a riot of memories, old and new, real and created by his boy, that he wasn’t even quite sure who he was anymore. What he did know, was that he loved his boy. He shouldn’t love him, but…but he did, and the feeling was so strong it was impossible for him to deny. He also knew that his boy was going stronger. He would possess Jay regularly, and each time, he was shocked to see what had happened to his friend’s form. He looked closer to sixty now, his hair receded back past the crown of his head, now just a dingy grey. His muscles had all collapsed, and his gut was heavy. He stank, and not like healthy musk–he stank of death, his teeth rotting out of his head, and yet…Kerry desired him anyway. Party, because his boy was inside him, but also…also because it was Jay. Because he’d always wanted Jay, and that desire persisted, somehow, even as his body seemed to age and decay right before his eyes.

One day, when he was feeling particularly guilty, watching his boy suck his cock with Jay’s throat, he pulled together all of the strength he could muster, and pushed him away. “No boy, no–no, you have to stop this, you can’t…he’s going to die, if you keep doing this to him. You have to stop, please, for me–for daddy.”

Jay’s sunken eyes looked at him, and then his body stood, and they looked down at his body, “I could kill him, that’s true. I was planning on killing him–or rather, I assumed I’d have to. But I’m almost strong enough daddy, I just need a little bit more.”

“I…I don’t even recognize him anymore. How did you do this to him?”

The boy smiled a toothless, unsettling grin, and then went back to sucking his daddy’s cock, pushing back, making sure Kerry wouldn’t fight back or protest, not until after he’d gotten another load from him. But Kerry kept pushing, thinking about that smile that had turned his stomach in a knot, looking down at himself through the cigar smoke, really looking, down at his hairy, sweaty gut, smelling himself, lifting up a hefty arm and snorting at his stench. It made his cock jump, his heavy balls pumping out a bit of precum which his boy drank down eagerly into Jay’s gut. This wasn’t him, was it? Whose clothes was he even wearing?

He had on a pair of coveralls and filthy workboots, neither of which he could remember buying in his life, neither of which should have fit him. He shouldn’t be this fat, he shouldn’t reek, he definitely shouldn’t be smoking, or drinking another warm beer from the 24 pack he’d started bringing home on an almost daily basis. What was he becoming? Who was he becoming? Who was he forgetting in the process? He came, and it made him feel dirty–he finished his cigar, and then his boy told him to get to bed.

The dreams became stronger. He lost sense of where the dreams ended, and real life began. His boy was always there. Jay was there too…or…or was it just his pig? He still cared about him, but the love he’d felt started to curdle into disgust and contempt, his desire for company into a deep pleasure in control. He enjoyed abusing the pig’s toothless mouth, slamming his massive cock deep in it’s filthy hole, his son cheerleading from the sideline, the two of them sharing smoky kisses while Jay drooled on the floor, his own cock and balls barely a nipple, completely inert.

One night, as winter was thawing slightly into an early spring, Kerry came home from a long day at work, hungry for a beer and his boy’s holes, maybe a rough fuck for his pig too, and his boy was there, shaking with excitement…and he touched him. It was electric, it wasn’t just…force. It was flesh. His boy was there–really there, in front of him. “I’m here daddy, I’m back.”

He knew, in his gut, he should be happy, but all he found welling up was absolute terror. His son had anticipated this, and forced his daddy to the floor with his mind, tearing away his filthy overalls and running his hands over his filthy ass.

“Now I can finally give you a piece of me, daddy, after I’ve taken so much from you. I seeded Piggy earlier, and he’s never looked better, don’t you think?”

He looked over, and saw Piggy curled up in his bed, fatter than before, looking healthier as well, like a kind of life had returned to him, but his eyes were so empty, empty of everything that had been Jay, just…just a slave, a pig, a thing. “Don’t…not like him, please…”

“Oh daddy, I’d never make you pig–not unless you made me very, very angry. No, but we can get rid of that young man now, forever. You won’t be troubled by him anymore, you’ll just be my happy, nasty daddy, and we can be happy together again, like before. Isn’t that what you want?” he ran his cock up and down Kerry’s crack, making his shiver, his cock leaking against his own desires, and after a quick fuck, Kerry was gone. The boy’s daddy let off a great big belch, feeling his boy’s cum leak from his hole, gave him a long, sloppy kiss, happy to be home at last.

Mr. Lear’s Buddy (Part 3)

Things were different for Buddy from then on, when he finally woke early Saturday afternoon, from his very long sleep. He’d…tried to resist. He really had, at first, but once he’d understood how…how good it could feel, how wonderful it was to have someone like Mr. Lear inside him, guiding him, controlling him, it was easier to just…let go. Together, Mr Lear and Buddy spent the next hour or so jacking off–for real now–exploring his young, husky body, Buddy amazed at the range of pleasure the old man could bring out in him. Sure, he’d jacked off before, but it had never felt like…like this. It was no wonder people jacked off so much, if you knew what you were doing, of course. And Mr. Lear had shown him that Buddy had no idea at all, what he was doing. He’d just been…floundering all this time, in desperate need of someone’s help. Well now he didn’t have to do anything at all. Mr. Lear would do everything for him! All he had to do was go along for the ride.

He felt a bit bad for his dad, however. He eventually came up to his son’s room to investigate the moaning he’d heard, over the din of the television downstairs. He opened the door, and was appalled at what he saw–his son covered in his own cum, jacking off openly under his roof like some…some fucking faggot! Buddy’s dad wasn’t all that much brighter than his son. He hadn’t even managed to graduate high school, ending up working away his life in construction. he was a big brute, heavily muscled with a thick full beard–it didn’t take much effort for Mr. Lear to have him on top of his own son, drooling, licking up the cum from his skin, disgusted with himself at his own actions but unable to do anything to stop himself.

But what to do with him? Such a horrible little man couldn’t be allowed to just continue being…horrible, after all. Mr. Lear started by stealing most of his cock. Buddy had been modestly endowed–around four inches, his father was a bit larger, at six. Together, however, Buddy’s body was wielding a ten inch, incredibly thick cock, and his father was left with not even a dicklet, but a dimple and a hole. He was humiliated at the sight of himself–which gave Mr. Lear a horrid idea–so he forced his new father to take any number of pictures of himself, in all sorts of demeaning positions and in his wife’s underwear, and made him start posting them online–his face exposed of course. He couldn’t stand it, but the thrill for him was so powerful, he started compulsively oozing from his new cumhole.

Mr. Lear had no real interest in returning to school–he already had enough knowledge to satisfy multiple PhDs, but his new body needed at least a high school diploma. When Buddy suddenly stopped failing classes, some of his teachers thought it was a miracle–the hopeless student, not just uncaring, but too stupid to really know what caring was–suddenly improved. Was he cheating? No one could prove anything–but some of the teachers found out the truth, soon enough.

Mr. Sonders, for example. He was easily the fattest teacher at the school, weighing in close to six hundred pounds, though this year he’d resolved to lose as much of it as he could–at least until Buddy’s body showed up at his desk one day after school. Mr. Sonders, Buddy discovered, had been Mr. Lear’s pet piggy–and while he put up quite a fight against falling back under his master’s control, he was soon crawling around the floor, squealing and oinking, begging his master’s forgiveness for daring to lose any of the weight he’d worked so hard to gain. In a matter of months, he was larger than ever, and as punishment he could no longer cum without his mouth packed with food–or a cock.

The football coach was equally unhappy to discover Mr. Lear was back from the grave, but he too, was back to his old habits before too long–no longer showering or changing his clothes, licking out the locker room urinals and toilets after practice, wetting the bed each night in his bachelor pad, since his wife had long since left him after his hygiene had first slipped. One thing that was unforgivable, however, was that he had shaved off his long, grungy beard, and cut his hair. As penance, his hair began growing incredibly fast–he had his old beard back by graduation, and it would only be getting longer–and filthier.

Buddy had no real hope of getting into college, of course–not with his abysmal track record in school. That didn’t seem to bother him, however, and he took on a conveniently open janitorial position at his old high school, and moved out on his own, into Mr. Lear’s still vacant house. After a few months, his father and mother divorced–his photos had finally been found online by his wife and work buddies. He was forced to quit his job out of shame, and move in with his son as his personal maid and slave. The brute spent his days in woman’s panties and heels, but Mr Lear forced him to work out even more and start juice up, turning him into a massive muscle monster bottom, filming slutty, humiliating videos for his online fans…and that was the last Buddy saw of him…of anything, actually.

He’d been fading for a while now, as Mr. Lear took over more and more space up in his mind. Before too long, even he wasn’t sure he existed anymore–when Mr. Lear finally convinced him that his existence was simply an impossibility, he finally winked out entirely, leaving his body to his Master, for the rest of his new life.

Our Demons (Part 4)

He wiggled his toes. He hadn’t been able to do that in a while. His finger uncurled from their fists reluctantly, trying to remember how to work. They felt strange, like they had too much weight to them. The rubber pulled back further, along his arms and legs, and there were some sensations Rich was expecting, but that didn’t happen. He…couldn’t feel any air against his cock, even though the rubber was no longer covering it. It was still buried in…something warm and soft. Without the rubber holding it back, he felt his gut spill out, followed by his chest. He must be fatter, but how much fatter? He wanted to touch himself, he wanted to feel himself, but Master had ordered him to stay still, sitting back on his knees, hands on the floor. Now only the hood was left. Two rough hands…rough. How long since he’d felt skin against his skin? Skin besides the feeling of a hand or a foot in his ass, besides a cock down his throat, or a filthy ass puckered against his tongue? He shivered. His skin got chills after being trapped in the suit for so long, and his entire body felt slimy and clammy with sweat.

The hands pulled the hood free in one movement, and the light was blinding. He hadn’t seen anything since the hood had gone on…days ago? Weeks? He’d been unable to keep track of time. He’d tried to count cigars, he’d tried to count fucks and loads and so many other things to keep his mind busy, but he’d just…sunk in. Accepted it, enjoyed it even. He blinked a few times, and realized he was kneeling in front of a mirror. There was some kind of white blob in the reflection–was that him?

It was him. What in the world was he, even? Fat. He was fat. No wonder he couldn’t feel his cock–it was buried beneath his huge fat apron, between two thighs larger than anything he’d ever seen before. He couldn’t look at it. It was disgusting. He looked up, and caught his own eyes, but his face, even his face was wrong. His mouth seemed too wide, the nose too big, eyes too small. He no longer had anything resembling a neck–his head just dissolved into folds of fatty jowls and chins which cascaded down onto his chest, where two huge moobs shook with every labored breath. His hair was gone–all of it. His entire body was completely smooth, his head, his face, his belly. His skin had lightened to a ghostly, sickly white, and the sheen of sweat all over him only made it worse.

He looked away. He couldn’t look at that. He looked over and down and saw a pair of leather boots, followed them up, and found a massive, six and a half foot tall brute looming over him. Derrick–no, not Derrick was gone, or dead. This no longer even looked like him. His entire body was covered with leather, a crisp, shiny uniform, up to his neck. The face, though. Beneath the thick beard he could see a sharp jawline too angled to be human. In fact, the entire face looked like a crystal with flesh stretched so tight over it it might rip at any moment. He was smiling. He was smiling, and it’s eyes were red, and it’s teeth were sharp, and there were bones pushing through the skin above his eyebrows, blood dribbling from two of the wounds, unnoticed by it.

He needed a cigar. He couldn’t think about any of this. Almost as if he was anticipating him, the brute, the demon, took a thick cigar down, shoved it in Rich’s mouth, and lit it to life. He sucked in the smoke…and realized too late that he had made the final mistake. There was something else in this cigar, something…another it. Another thing like whatever it was in Derrick’s body. He coughed and hacked, trying to force it from his lungs, but his body felt so…heavy all of a sudden. Leaden. It was just so much effort. He slumped to one side, tried to catch himself, but ended up crashing to the floor on his fat side, wheezing.

“Oh Rich, I think you dropped something,” it said, bent down and picked up the cigar and this time jammed it so far down his throat where he lay that he knew he had no choice but to inhale. “Oh Sloth, Mr. Sloth. Do come play with me. I’ve enjoyed the mortal, I truly have, but oh how I long for a filthy, filthy Sloth…”

Rich was trying to fight, trying to rationalize with whatever it was inside of him, but while Derrick had at least been able to reason with the Wrath now inhabiting him, Sloth was unreason. Rich would plead, but pleading was too much effort, wasn’t it? In fact, why think at all? Why bother with a mind? It was mindless, it was acidic. Every effort he made against it simply dissolved. It was irrelevant. Useless. The ego is useless. He was useless. Yes…why even exist at all? That was the question he suddenly had to face. Why exist?

Rich was too exhausted to answer. There was no answer, really. He could see that now. It would be easier, really. So much easier to just stop fighting. He sighed, and let the demon inside of him run amok. His memories dissolved, his desires fled. What was he even? A voice? A will? What was a will in the face of utter sloth?

Wrath watched eagerly, as the cigar burnt down. He could see the light in Rich’s eyes dimming, the iris’ and whites dimming to greys and then to deep tar black, without any reflection at all. The cigar burned to ash, and the mouth hungrily chomped it to bits and swallowed it down. “Wrath….Wrath……Fuck…hole…….” the blob managed to say, with a voice something between a whisper and a gargle.

“Oh you piece of filth, I know what you want,” Wrath said, and rolled it over. It was so heavy suddenly! But he found the hole, sucking and hungry at the rear, drooling some foul smelling filth down the crack, and shoved his fist in as deep as he could with a deep howl.

Our Demons (Pt. 1)

“I’m sorry, I know…I know I shouldn’t have done that.”

Rich groaned again, trying to blink the haze from his head. He could remember Derrick calling him. He’d sounded like he was in trouble, and of course Rich was willing to help, but when he’d arrived, Derrick hadn’t answered his knocks, but the door was unlocked. He opened it and stepped inside, when someone had slammed him up against the wall, hands wrapped around his neck, and he’d passed out.

“I just…You see, I haven’t been able to stop thinking about you today, and I knew you were at the gym, and just, fuck, I have to stop, I have to stop smoking this but it tastes so fucking good, you don’t understand.”

Rich tried to move, but his hands had been tied together, his feet as well. He was lying on the couch in Derrick’s apartment, gagged, and there was something around his neck, something tight like a collar. He tried to speak, but there was a length of rope wrapped around his head several times, forming a rather effective gag.

“I know that this probably isn’t very comfortable. I just had to use what I had on hand, I mean, I…but fuck, you look hot, tied up. Hell, you look hot anyway, you always look hot, fuck. And you smell…fuck, you smell so good after a workout—did you know that? I’d…I’d smelled you before, but not like this, fuck, not like this.”

Rich looked over and saw his friend had the jock he had worn to the gym in his hand. Looking down, he realized that he had been stripped of his shorts, and was naked aside from his tight, spandex shirt. Derrick took the cigar he was smoking from his mouth and pressed Rich’s jock to his nose, taking a deep, snorting grunt, pawing at his crotch as he did. He realized then that his friend wasn’t looking quite like he usually looked. He had a thick, bushy goatee for one thing, and he was dressed head to toe in leather. Derrick had hated leather—what in the hell was he doing wearing all this shit now?

“I…I do need your help though, man. I really do. I just…I just had to tie you up to make sure you listened to the whole story, alright? Yeah…yeah, that’s…all, really.” Derrick looked away and took a long drag off his cigar, the jock still balled up in his other hand. “I did a stupid thing, you know? I guess it didn’t seem stupid at the time. I went into this smoke shop, for a new bong, right? I broke mine last weekend, whatever. But instead of a pipe, I let this guy sell me these cigars. And I can’t stop smoking them, but they’re changing me, Rich, I think they’re turning me into some kind of faggot. All this leather gear replaced all my clothes, and I’m so fucking furry. I’m older too! It’s some freaky shit. You gotta help me. I think…I think if I just…just get it out of my system, it’ll all be fine, right? That’s how it works, I think. And I’m just curious, so…so…”

He gripped the jock nervously, and then got down on his knees next to Rich’s head, who shook his head no, but Derrick was just staring at him.

“This was a bad idea. You…you shouldn’t have come over.”

Rich tried to pull away, but his friend hooked two fingers in the already tight collar and pulled him closer. He was sniffing the air, and then he took out the cigar, leaned in, and licked the side of Rich’s face. A long lick, from jaw to scalp.

“I just…gotta get it over with.”

He put the cigar back in his mouth, and started running his hands over his friend’s chest and stomach. Rich tried to pull away, tried to block him with his bound fists, but Derrick just worked around his protests.

“I knew it had to be you, it just had to.”

He yanked at the spandex a couple times, until it ripped, and then he tore the shirt off Rich’s body in tatters.

“I knew it, I didn’t want to admit it but fuck, look at you. Fucking smell you.”

Rich tried to scream when Derrick started twisting his nipples.

“Shut the fuck up! Shut your fucking mouth, you fucking slut, or I’ll give you something to scream about!”

They both froze. That voice wasn’t Derrick’s, and they both knew it. Derrick let go and fled into the kitchen, Rich could hear him pacing the length in his leather boots, smoking his cigar. He looked around for some way to escape, some way to free himself, but before anything came to him, Derrick emerged.

“I’m sorry man, I’m sorry. I lost…control for a second. But everythings alright, I got this, I got this all under control.” then, immediately that same deep, powerful voice from before, “Yeah pig, I got you right where I fucking want you.”

Rich tried to roll off the couch, but Derrick caught him and pushed him back into the crack, and then climbed on him, straddling him in his leather pants. He unzipped the fly, and pulled his cock out. “Look man, look…just…just suck me off. Just do it. Do it, and…and I’ll let you go.”

Rich shook his head, sobbing now.

“No no no! Really! Really really, I promise, just suck my cock. Please, before it comes back, it’s always worse when I’m horny, just suck me off, and I’ll untie you, and we’ll forget any of this ever happened.”

He reached up and untied the knot, unravelling the rope gag. When Rich could speak again, he screamed. “I’m not going to suck you fucking cock! Help! Help, somebody—”

Derricks hands grabbed his throat and crossed thumbs over his windpipe. He couldn’t breathe, he couldn’t breathe at all, he couldn’t—

“Listen pig,” that deep, terrifying voice, “Listen good. You scream again? I’ll choke the life out of you. If I feel any fucking teeth? I’ll pull them all out. Here’s what’s gonna happen. You’re gonna choke on my fucking cock. You’re gonna gag on this motherfucker, I’m gonna fuck your motherfucking face with it, and there ain’t shit that you can do about it, because I will kill you. I’ve never fucked a corpse before—but if you wanna be my first, then fucking fine by me.”

The hands loosened enough that he could gasp, and then he nodded, still sobbing.

Derrick sat back, blinking, not entirely sure what had just happened, but Rich was nodding, and so he scooted up, straddling his friend’s neck, and Rich let him slide his cock into his mouth. He lost track of himself after that, he just had to fuck, and fuck rough. He could hear Rich choking and gagging underneath him, but it probably wasn’t anything to worry about, right? Rich was such a good friend, helping him out like this. Maybe once he came, he’d be willing to help him out with a few other…things he’d been thinking about lately.

“Bloody Mary, Candyman–you know–you kids still do that stuff, when you’re hanging out? Or are you too busy with your video games and shit like that for an old fashioned dare and scare?” Uncle Harry laughed, and slugged back some more beer, and I took another drink too. Harry was pretty much to coolest uncle–all my friends were jealous that he let me drink beer and smoke a cigar with him when my parents were out of town for vacations. He was pretty cool, but he was also a bit of a creep. He’d never done anything with me, but I was pretty sure he was gay. I mean, I don’t have anything against gay guys, right? He was more creepy because he was always going on about this occult and magic shit, and ghosts and curses and whatever. A real horror movie buff too. He had–he claimed–real movie props from when he used to work in Hollywood or whatever. Still, I liked movies, and a good slasher was always fun. We’d usually watch some horror film and go to bed late, but more than once he’d pranked me pretty well afterwards.

“Candyman–that’s that mirror movie, right? We watched that once.”

“Yeah, that’s the one.”

“I don’t think any of my friends at school would even know what that is.”

My uncle leaned back, throwing out his gut like he always did when he was getting ready to ‘explain shit to his nephew’. “Well, we always used to do this as kids, light a candle, turn out the lights, and then say ‘Bloody Mary’ three times, and the devil appears behind you. But I saw the other day that the reason it works is because the brain can’t stane at it’s own reflection for very long without getting bored, and it just starts making shit up to entertain itself. Fucked up, right?”

“Yeah, real fucked up. Can I get another beer?”

Harry handed me another can of beer, and the subject drifted off for a bit until we were both drunker, and then he brought up his challenge. “Hey, you know, I got this big mirror from an old movie set down in the basement. How about this–you sit down there, in the dark, for twenty minutes–no, here’s a better idea. You sit down there as long as you want–and I’ll pay you, say a two bucks a minute that you stay down there, staring at the mirror.”

“How do you know I’ll keep staring?”

“Honor system, I’m a nice guy–and you’re too honest.”

I was curious, I admit it. So we went down–everything in the basement was covered with sheets, and he put a chair down there, and uncovered the wide, ornate mirror. I sat down, he turned off the lights and shut the door. He made me give him my phone so I wouldn’t be tempted to cheat. The basement wasn’t perfect dark–there was some light from outside through the garden level windows, just enough that I could just make myself out in the glass mirror.

The first few minutes were fine, just me staring. My eyes adjusted to the darkness, and I could make myself out better and better each time, and then I saw a…figure, materialize behind me, something strange and ghostly, and I spun around, but there was nothing there. I tried to tell myself that there was nothing, that it was just my eyes, but I looked back at the mirror and there it was again, right behind me, and a hand, a fucking hand grazed my cheek, and I swear I felt it, and I shut my eyes, and kept them shut, and tried not to imagine hands groping over me, but they were there, I was sure of it, but I stayed silent–but only because when I tried to scream, there was a chill in my lungs, and I couldn’t get anything out. I was frozen, I was frozen, and my eyes were creaking open again. And it was there, still there in the mirror, staring at me, and the figment looked like it was laughing, and then it faded away into nothing.

The terror eased up slowly, and I laughed at myself for being afraid at all. But my reflection was still strange, and that was when I realized that the mirror had become a window. I couldn’t move, I was tied to myself in the room, and that figment was still there, I could see it inside of myself, in my eyes, and it lifted my arm and waved at me in the dark, with me, it’s reflection, helplessly following. Then, it unzipped my pants, and it pulled out my cock, and started jacking off, and I followed it’s motions, unable to stop. the scene I was looking at, it was changing again. It was changing, and I was changing too. I looked…older, suddenly, older and more muscular. Hairier, my head shaved, a huge bushy beard. I lost myself in the sudden strangeness, I was so horny, the cian around my neck so heavy, the leather around my hard muscles so tight, and I was cumming, fuck, I was so horny, cumming and panting and staring at myself, and then the light flicked on.

“So, how’d my little demon do?” my uncle said, “You have fun with my nephew like we agreed?”

I was still jacking off, but on the right side of the mirror. The figment was still in the glass, staring at me. My master came down, ran his hands my physique, obviously pleased, and let me suck his cock. He was satisfied, and released the demon from bondage into the nether, and I stayed with him, his muscular cigar bear slave nephew, for the rest of my life.

***

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“But…But I have to go to work, I can’t…I can’t miss another day, how will…how will I pay rent?” Kurt said, trying to resist the sensation of Damon rubbing his belly.

“Oh don’t you worry about that, I can cover it, just come on over here and lay down, big boy, and let me take care of you–I can’t have you up on your feet, or you might loose weight.”

Kurt was powerless as his slender roommate pulled him over to the sofa and pushed him down onto the soft cushions, watching Kurt sigh and relax, succumbing to inertia. “Yes, that’s good master, just lay there and relax,” Damon said, undressing Kurt, who fought meekly.

“Master? I’m…I’m not anyone’s master…"

"Shush, don’t pay that any mind yet–just jack off some more, and let me go fix you some more breakfast.”

Kurt did as Damon suggested, digging his cock out of jeans, unable to resist, and started jacking off. The demon living inside Damon cackled–this slender body he’d stolen was far too energetic to hold his master, but this one–this one would be perfect before long. And when Yesholom the Slothful finally entered the world, well, then the fun would truly begin.

Source: stevenmalibu