Case Closed (Part 4)

He yanked him off his cock by his hair, and Richard nodded. “Yes…sir. I…I wasn’t…telling the truth.”

“Yeah, now why don’t you go ahead and tell Bailey here what really happened last night?”

“I…It was me, sir. I begged them all to fuck me. At…at first they wouldn’t because they were all straight, but I had to get…get down on my knees and…and beg. Beg, and…and plead. And finally they gave…gave me their cocks, sir. That’s…what happened. I was lying before. I’m…I’m sorry.” The last syllable was cut off, by Walker impaling his mouth on his cock again.

The thing is, it didn’t sound like he was telling the truth, but now that I was in here again, my earlier convictions were fading. It really did seem, then, that the fucker had been lying to us, and that meant, that if it wasn’t the second, then it had to be the first. “So what then, Richard? Why go to all this fucking trouble then?” I said, and then squatted down next to him, watching him suck my partner’s cock, “You see, I was doing some thinking, while I was out getting some cigars for me and my partner. I think, the reason you did all this? The reason you had to make up this whole fuckin’ story? Because you need attention. Because you need fuckers like us to feel sorry for you, so we’ll give you a pity fuck, is that it? Did you think that, if you just told us some sob story, about getting raped, that we’d just let you suck our cocks, just like that? You fucking pig, you fucking disgust me.”

“Yeah, you’re gonna have to get up pretty early in the morning to fool me and my partner, you fucker,” Walker said, “Bailey, I think we should do a contraband search on this fucker, what do you say?”

“I think it might be good to check him out, fuck yeah.”

Walker uncuffed him, and together we hauled him up and started stripping him out of his clothes, poking fun at his fat body, twisting his nipples jiggling his fat, stroking his big cock, telling him that if he didn’t want this, then why in the hell was he so fucking hard? He wasn’t even fighting us at this point, the pig knew we’d caught him, and good too. Still, when Walker bent him over the table, holding him down while I gloved up, making sure my sleeves were rolled up well past my elbow, he started protesting again, begging me to not make him do this, to just let him go, but I gave his fat ass a few smacks, and that got him settled down, before I lubed up and slipped my fingers in his ass, listening to him moan.

“Listen to this fucker–I bet he hid something up there just so we’d have to find it.”

“Yeah, why else would the pig be moaning like this?” I said, but I didn’t feel anything near the entrance. I pushed in deeper, widening the hole, but it was so damn tight. If the pig had been fucked by an entire frat house the night before, it sure didn’t feel like it–no, it felt fucking amazing. At some point I must have undone the front of my pants, my free hand stroking my cock as I thrust my fingers deeper and deeper into the pig’s hole. It was…fuck, it was big! All of me looked big, all of a sudden, though. Walker walked around to the other side of the table, which Richard’s head was sticking off of, and started fucking his throat again, and before too long I had my whole fist buried in the pig’s ass. “Fuck, this pig’s so tight, man.”

“Heh, probably didn’t even get fucked at all last night–that’s probably why he’s so desperate. He sure doesn’t look like he goes to fucking college either–heh, maybe a decade ago, eh Richard?”

“Is that what you do, Richard? Nah, not Richard, I bet everyone calls you Dick, don’t they? You’re so fat, so ugly, so old, that the only way you can get someone to pay any attention to you, is if you beg cops like us for fucks, is that it? Well fucking fine pig, have it your way!” I shoved in deeper, feeling him squirm and groan in pain, but as he did, his body started spasming and his cock started spraying cum under the table…and shrinking. It had been fairly sizable before, not that I’d gotten a good look at it, but almost as it shot, it seemed to dwindle, until it was only about three inches long. I looked elsewhere, and the rest of his body was also changing, right in front of my eyes, or at least, that’s what it seemed like at the time. Shit like that can’t really happen, right? He was getting older, his hair turning grey and balding, leaving him with a mostly bald scalp and some stringy hair around it. His body got fatter too, spreading out on the table around him, but I recognized him now–Dick. Fucker’s a regular here, always coming in, claiming he’s been raped and abused, but it’s just a fucking game to this pig, getting the two of us all hot and bothered until we give him a good working over. And fuck if it doesn’t work everytime, but then again, it doesn’t take much for Walker and I to get revved up–the two of us are always fucking horny, and usually always fucking–each other, or tag teaming some pig we pulled off the street and into an alley.

His pig’s tight hole was finally starting to loosen up a bit–I hauled out my arm and slid my big cock inside him and pounded it in up to the hilt over and over, and table screeching across the floor a bit each time from the impact, shoving his throat deeper onto Walker’s cock each time. Finally, the two of us came–I don’t remember who first, but it was close enough together that it didn’t really matter, and we each pulled free. I made Dick get down and lick up the load of cum he’d shot all over the floor, the two of us watching and smoking, making sure he got every drop, and only then did we let the old fag get dressed again in those grungy, stained clothes he’s always wearing. He didn’t look very happy, and he tried to just leave! Well I wasn’t going to have any of that–fuck no. I shoved him up against the wall, and cuffed him for filing a false report.

Case Closed (Part 3)

Walker seemed surprised by my sudden use of force, but he rolled with it, leaning in closer himself, a big, cocky grin on his face, pinning Richard in tighter at the table.

“Look, I…I don’t think…I mean, I–”

“Richard,” Walker said, “There’s nothing wrong with being gay. But there is a little something called ‘filing a false report,’ which is a crime. So I need you to tell me now–right now–if this is all some stupid game to you, because there are real victims out there who could use our help, and you’re obviously wasting our time.”

“I’m not lying!” he said, “This really happened, I know it sounds crazy, but it did!”

At this point, by detective intuition was going crazy. We had this lying pig right where we fucking wanted him, and all three of us knew it, but even then, what came out of my mouth next surprised me–hell, it surprised all of us. “Well, if it really happened,” I said, “then you’d be able to, you know, provide us with details of that night only you would know. Like, how did it feel, pig? How did it feel, getting fucked by all those cocks? How did all your frat brother’s cum taste, eh? Did you enjoy it? I bet a pig like you could use some more, right?” I had stepped closer at this point, by crotch inches from his face. I was…hard, but then again, good detective work always gets me hard…I think. He was staring right at the bulge in my black pants, unable to look away. “My eyes are up here, fucker.” He looked up at me, and the emotion there–he was terrified. Truly terrified. And that…that set me back a bit. I felt like…like maybe I was making a mistake, maybe I was…wrong about him.

“Please…please, if you aren’t…aren’t too far gone, just let me go, please…”

“No pig, you aren’t going anywhere until we get some answers from you,” Walker said, “Right Bailey?”

“R-Right…” I said, but something was wrong about all of this. “I’m…I’m gonna cool off for a bit, take a walk.”

“Sure thing, partner,” Walker said, unbuttoning the first few buttons of his white shirt, pushing up his sleeves again, showing off forearms which looked…bigger than they had, “I think Richard and I here might enjoy some private time, right Richard? In fact, I bet we can get this all sorted out by the time you get back, Bailey.”

I didn’t say anything, I just backed out the door and didn’t stop until I was out of the building entirely, but I felt better as soon as I was outside, like the air was fresher, somehow. But I did need to walk, for a bit. Walking always helps me with my cases. I started off down the city streets, and after a few blocks, I realized one thing didn’t add up. If Richard was lying, which he had to be, of course, then why report it to us? Why come all the way here and report an impossible rape? It wasn’t like he could get anything out of a stupid story like that, with curses and suddenly gay frat houses. So why tell us at all? I could only come up with two possibilities. One, the guy was just desperate for attention, all of this was some weird cry for help or something. The second, more disturbing possibility was that he was telling the truth–and for some reason, I was coming around to seriously considering that might be the case. I mean…I’d felt…different in that room, or so I’d thought. Walker seemed to have been acting strange as well. Maybe…Maybe both of us were being affected, and we didn’t even know it. But if that was the case…then I might have just left the kid in the worst possible position–alone with my partner.

I double timed it back to the precinct and up to the interrogation room where I’d left them. I’d been gone for about half an hour, and all I could hope was that I was either wrong about this, or that I wasn’t too late. I opened the door, and immediately my cock hardened in my pants at the smell, and I looked at the two of them. Richard was now handcuffed to the chair, through the back, and looked like he’d been roughed up a bit, one of his eyes started to blacken. Fucking Walker and his hot head, getting started wwithout me! My partner was sitting on the table in front of him, his fly down, cock out…and Richard had the entire thing down his throat, moaning. Walker looked up and saw me standing there, told me to get in, and without really thinking about it, I stepped inside and shut the door behind me, groping my own crotch as I did.

“Fuck,” Walker said, shoving Richard down on his shaft until he gagged, “Did you get the cigars? Can’t believe we ran the fuck out.”

Cigars? Neither of us smoked, and yet, I reached into my plastic shopping bag I was carrying–even though I couldn’t remember buying anything–and pulled out two. I walked over, handed one to Walker, got it lit for him, and then lit one for myself as well. I noticed, then, that Walker seemed…different, all of a sudden. For one thing, his head was shaven. He’d always liked his hair a bit longer, but when had he done that? I…suddenly couldn’t remember either look very clearly. He was also bigger–more muscular. His shoulders made his neck look smaller, his arms bulging from bicep to forearm, and I could see his cock was substantially larger than the one I’d glimpsed in the showers before.

“Well Bailey, we finally had ourselves a fuckin’ breakthrough!” Walker said, puffing smoke with that cocky grin on his face he makes when he figures out a clue, “Yeah, the two of us have made some very good headway, isn’t that right, Richard?”

Case Closed (Part 2)

Richard stayed quiet for a moment. Gathering his thoughts? Rehearsing his lies? Here’s what he said:

“Look, I know this is going to sound crazy, I know, but just…just listen. Last night…that…it was Meghan’s fault! She did this, I know she did.”

Ah, so the plot thickens, I thought to myself.

“Who’s Meghan?” I asked.

“Meghan is–was–my girlfriend. She found me after my psych 301 class yesterday and started screaming at me for cheating on her with someone else.”

“And were you?”

He waffled, before finally nodding, and kept talking, “Look, it was…an accident. But she told me, then, that she was going to get me back. She’d always been bragging that she came from this line of witches or something, and how she’s an expert at curses. This has to be what happened to me, it has to. I can’t think of any…any other reason why that would happen. Why they’d do that to me. Why I’d…change like that, like this,” he said, grabbing his hefty gut and giving it a jiggle. For some reason, watching him do that…I felt a tingle in my crotch, but I did my best to ignore it.

“Alright, and what exactly did they do to you? Your frat brothers, I mean. You were a member of the fraternity in question, right?”

Richard nodded. The two of us looked at each other, a bit doubtful, and he must have seen what we were thinking. “Look, I know…how I look right now, alright? But I didn’t look like this yesterday. I was buff, hell, I was one of the school’s football stars.”

“I don’t remember a Richard being announced at any of the games I’ve gone to,” I said.

“No, I mean, that’s all part of it. Look, I just…I just don’t want to sound like a crazy person.”

“And the two of us, we want to believe you, Richard,” Walker said, leaning over the table a bit, “But if we’re going to be able to help you, we have to understand what happened, and we’re going to need you to give us as much detail as possible,” I saw my partner’s…nose flare, suddenly. I don’t know why I noticed it at the time, but he seemed…eager, somehow. He always gets that way though, when he thinks he’s caught someone in a lie, but that just seemed so much more…hungry.

“I was…Meghan left me standing there in the hallway, and I went back to the frat house. Everything was fine that whole afternoon. The guys were all normal, I mean. Nothing changed until after dinner that evening, when I got back from the dining hall. Some of the guys were already drinking–I mean, we all drink on Friday, so that wasn’t strange, but…but some of the guys kept…giving me this strange look.”

“What do you mean?”

“I mean…they were looking at me, like I’d see them look at the sorority girls at our parties. I saw them looking at me like…like they wanted me. It was really weird, but they wanted me to drink with them, but after one beer I was already blasted. Marco…I think he might have drugged it, I know he has a stash of roofies in his room–and they started yanking my clothes off me. I punched…one of them, and they…they tied me down, over the table, and they started…”

The waterworks were flowing again, but at that point, I have to be honest, neither of us were buying it, but he wasn’t likely to give us a straight story–besides, something else had been bugging me. “So they tied you down. This morning you must have still been tied up, so how did you escape this morning, when you couldn’t all last night? I also don’t see any rope burn on your wrists, which we usually see from someone struggling.”

He was quiet–guilty quiet. “That’s…that’s the worst part. I didn’t want to tell you, not yet. I mean, at first, I didn’t want them to do it, I mean, I was fighting them, but for some reason, I…I started to enjoy it. When…when they untied me, so they could…could use my…mouth, I didn’t even run. I didn’t want to have sex with them, but I also couldn’t…stop myself. I just felt like…like such a pig! I didn’t even notice it happening at the time, but when I woke up today, and I…I was fat, somehow. I mean, yesterday I was a star football player, and now I look like I haven’t worked out a day in my life! How does something like that even happen?”

Easy answer–it doesn’t.

“Alright, so…you enjoyed it?” Walker asked.

“I don’t…I mean, I’m straight! I’m not gay. I didn’t want to like it, but it was like something in my head wouldn’t let me say no.”

“So you never said no?”

“No! I said no at first, but then, I…” he looked at each of us, and the look in his eyes–it’s that first moment they realize they’ve been caught. “I should go,” he said quickly, “I think I need to get out of here.”

He stood up, but I positioned myself between him in the door, “No, why don’t you go ahead and sit back down. We need to sort out what exactly happened last night, I think.” I stepped closer to him, and…and something shivered in me, some strange…desire. I couldn’t even really process it, but I shoved him back into his seat. I wanted answers, and this pig wasn’t going anywhere until I got them.

Dream Camp (Part 10)

Kyle was in a space–outdoors, but nondescript–a thick collar around his neck with spikes, attached to a heavy chain, attached to a post rooted in the floor. Barry was standing a few yards off, watching him struggle and fight against it, trying to get loose, but there was nowhere for him to go now, nowhere he could go to escape this anymore. But still, he was stubbornly resisting, his will bouncing off of him, but he’d anticipated this–and he had an idea for how to finally get Kyle to accept his dream.

Max appeared, looking around, confused, like he’d been somewhere else entirely a moment prior. He had the same collar on as his father, but was unchained, and seeing his father panicking and terrified, he knew what he needed. He flinched away from his son when he tried to come closer, and Max began chasing him around the post, until Barry began shortening the chain, giving Kyle less and less room to avoid him, until Max finally pinned him in place, and swallowed his cock into his hot throat. The initial pleasure overwhelmed him, Barry feeding his libido, encouraging him, convincing him to enjoy his son’s beastly throat. He came to his senses after a few moments and pushed his son away, but it was too late–he was weakening. His…cock. It wasn’t human anymore. It had gone into Max’s mouth human, and what emerged was…pink, inhuman, and slimy, with a sheath. Stunned, he allowed Max an opening to keep sucking, and the pleasure now was impossible for him to deny, and his instincts began to overwhelm him, making him grab hold of his son’s head and ramming his new cock down his throat, Barry watching as the rest of his body began changing as well.

His nails lengthened into claws, giving him a better hold on his son as he skull fucked, him, the rest of the changes radiating from his groin. Fur spread across his body, even as what little fat melted off him, his muscles bulging with power. Barry could see Kyle there still, in his eyes, both trying to understand what was happening to him and still trying to fight it, but as the fur grew over his whole body, it was obvious that he was growing weaker. Finally, his head and skull began to reshape, his snout pushing out, and there was nothing he could do to fight it any longer–or contain the anger he had always kept barely contained within his body. He threw his son off his now thirteen inch cock and mounted his ass, grunting, snorting and slobbering, licking his emerging tusks with his now long, prehensile tongue, hungry for pain, hungry to fuck, hungry to dominate. Barry saw what was happening, saw he was growing larger than he’d anticipated and tried to push him back, but his will was rebuffed–Kyle’s muscles swelling even larger, his bones and frame growing to support him, until he was at least seven feet tall, Max limp and whimpering beneath him like a ragdoll, simply trying to survive being pummelled by his beastly father’s now foot and a half long cock. He came with a thunderous roar, cum spewing with such force that it spurted out of Max’s now wrecked hole, forming a puddle around his body, his father removing his cock from him. Barry wondered if he was still alive–he didn’t seem to be moving.

Kyle, at least, turned to him. The collar was now comically tight around his neck, and with one hand, he reached up, grasped the leather, and ripped it apart, letting it fall behind him as he stalked towards Barry, eyes full of fury, his massive cock jutting out in front of him. He was taller than Barry was now, and Barry felt…something he hadn’t felt in days now–he felt fear. That same fear he’d always had, before all of this, the fear of this man, of Max, of what this brute might do to him, and too late, he felt the amulet feed off his fear, and Kyle grew larger and bulkier, looming over him now. Should he run? Should he fight? He was strong, sure, but was he that strong? He didn’t know, he didn’t know anymore.

He was losing control, just like he’d lost control the night before, in the tent with Christian, allowing his friend desires to warp him. He tried to hold on to himself, tried to focus on the power, on shrinking him down, on making him weaker, anything at all, but he couldn’t–he couldn’t do it because…because.

“Because you’re weak, pig.”

It was Kyle who’d said it, his voice impossibly deep, almost entirely a growl, but he understood it all the same.

“Because you’ve always been weak–but I should thank you,” he said, “I…I hadn’t realized, how strong I could be, but don’t worry piggy, we’re gonna have some fun. We have all night, right? In our dreams?” He took a step closer, and Barry tried to back up, but it was like his feet had been sucked into the earth, and all he could feel was terror, as the beast he’d created stalked toward him, licking it’s chops and stroking it’s gargantuan cock.

I’ll Make You Feel Small (Part 1)

George stood outside The Pit, off to one side of the entrance, just beyond the scope of the streetlights, smoking a cigar, and waiting. He’d been standing there for close to an hour, waiting for him to show up, his target–a man named Trey Donovan. They had business that needed to be settled, not that Trey was aware of the debt he owed. Still, he’d been a blight on the local scene for long enough that someone needed to deal with the fucker, and George knew that if anyone could deal with him for good, it was him.

Trey thought of himself as an alpha, not that he really knew what that meant. An alpha ought to be a leader; to Trey, it simply meant dominator. He cared only about himself, about his needs, about his looks. He was, George supposed, appealing, of one had a fetish for gorilla silhouettes. He almost certainly was on steroids, from how large he was–it was clear he was compensating for something, and everyone who’d been with him (or raped by him) could attest to his rather…lackluster size. Still, anyone who mentioned that tended to end up with one of those massive forearms shoved inside, whether they were ready or not. He was a brute, cruel and unfeeling, and George had seen too many boys and cubs he liked be ruined by Trey, in one way or another.

George considered himself a daddy, and he looked the part too. Past what some might consider his prime, his hair greying and balding past the crown of his head, a big full gut pushing out against the thick leather harnesses he liked wearing. Still, he knew how to win someone’s obedience, how to create a bond more lasting than the ones Trey fostered out of pain and fear. Some brutes could only learn in the language of brutes, and George was certain Trey was one of them. If he could only get off by making people feel small, then perhaps what he needed more than anything else was to feel small himself. So small, he’d never hurt anyone ever again–George would make sure of that.

He heard the roar of a motorcycle coming down the street, and saw the hulking bull sitting in the saddle pull over to one side of the street and park. He was decked out in leather and denim, all the clothes a bit too small for him on purpose. Trey got off and stomped his way down the sidewalk and up into The Pit, passing George on the way, not even giving the old bear a glance, since George wasn’t exactly his type. He didn’t even hear the strange mumbling coming from the shadows, though he did feel a strange…sensation as he climbed the steps, like some shadow had attached itself to him. He tried to shake off the feeling, but couldn’t, growled and went inside, figuring a rough fuck would make him feel better. George just smiled, waited a few more minutes, put out the butt of his cigar, and then followed Trey inside, ready to get to work.

It hadn’t taken Trey long to get started. In fact, he had probably grabbed the first slightly appealing guy he’d seen, dragged him into a room, bent him over the bench and started on him–or at least that’s what it looked like. The guy was young, short, a bit of a twink, kind of into it, though he kept asking Trey to take in a bit slower–not that he was listening. A few men were watching, and George joined the circle, watching for a moment, before he said, just above a whisper to the man next to him, “What is it, four inches, ya think?”

The man he’d spoken to, knowing Trey’s reputation, immediately turned around and left the room–the other men following suit. Trey, too, had heard him of course, and stopped his rutting, gripping his victim tight to hold him in place, turning to where George was standing, leering. “Big enough to fuck you up, old man. W don’t you just shut up and watch, and see what a real man can do?” The quaver of doubt in his voice was apparent even to him, and he started fucking harder.

“You’re not a man, you’re just a fucking animal. A fucking animal with a tiny, worthless dick,” George said, “You’re pathetic.”

Trey pulled out, and snarled, but something was wrong with him. He knew that he should be angry–no, he was angry, but he should be…angrier than he was. Part of him, some strange part of him was…a bit turned on, by the insult, for some reason. The young twink took his opportunity, rolled off the bench and ran off, Trey realizing too late that his fuck had gotten away. “Ya know, I don’t usually fuck old farts like you, but I’ll ram my fist up your hole just to teach you a lesson about respect!”

He charged George, ready to tackle him. “You’re weak,” George said. Something affected his stride, and Trey stumbled, nearly tripping. “You’re weak, and you’re worthless.” No, no, this wasn’t right, Trey thought to himself, this fucker couldn’t…couldn’t say shit like this to him! He threw a punch–George caught his fist in his own…and his hand should have been so much bigger, but somehow…somehow this old, fat man could palm his fist in his own…and…and… “Bend over, bitch,” George spat.

Trey fought. He fought this…this this sudden desire to submit, something he’d never felt before in his life, something he’d never even imagined himself capable of feeling. He took a step back, but George closed the distance between them, one of the bears hands wrapping around his neck. “You worthless piece of trash, don’t even think about it. You know you deserve this. I’m gonna show you just how little of a man you are. Now bend the fuck over, whore–I won’t tell you again.”

George shoved him back, Trey trying to keep his balance, but he fell on his ass, and…and he got on his knees, helped himself up with the bench, and…and bent over, the whole time, his mind screaming at him, unable to understand why he was doing this, as he heard George’s belt buckle click open, his zipper drop, and the old bear shoved his eight inch cock in balls deep.

The Bathroom of the Lost (Part 3)

This time, in the darkness, it was different. Before, RJ had been terrified, the strange beings around him a kind of torture. But now, now every touch from a claw sent a burst of pleasure through him, strange mouths fighting for the privilege of sucking and gnawing on his cock, balls and nipples, eager to drink and absorb his cum. Still, RJ had a question, a burning question–when could he leave? He knew, somehow, that he didn’t belong here, that he’d come from somewhere outside–at the thought, the presence around him turned angry, and the pleasure became…painful. He could enjoy it at first, but then he grew terrified, the presence lecturing him inside his mind. There was no outside, there was only here, and he was here to be punished and to punish others–that if he continued harbouring ideas about the world he’d come from…well, he’d just have to see what might happen to him then.

The lights again. Now, they were too harsh to his eyes–the dark, he liked the dark better, he liked being in the pleasures of the dark. He hadn’t changed, much–not nearly as much as before, but his hands…they didn’t seem quite human anymore, and his massive cock was emerging from some strange sheath, that ran up his muscled, hairy belly. In front of him was the endless wall of urinals, but one of them was not like the others. In the place of filthy porcelain, there was instead a body, fused with the wall. It was upside down, the chest emerging from the nasty, grafittied tile, the head looking up at it’s tortured body, arms trapped in the wall, the mouth screaming in terror.

RJ…remembered him. It was the stranger, the stranger he’d fucked earlier. A voice in his head, a darkness, told him that this man had fought them, it had tried to escape, it hadn’t even tried to be good, be free, it still thought it was a person. So now, it had to pay. If it wouldn’t join them, if it wouldn’t help them, then it would be nothing more than an object, a filthy, disgusting object.

The man’s skin had a pasty look to it under the light,; RJ walked forward, hearing something click against the tile floor, the man trying to flinch away from him, and ran his clawed fingers down its abdomen. It…was hard, or hardening. He was hard…too. And he had…had to piss. He bent over, pushing his cock into the thing’s screaming mouth, feeling it widen to take RJ’s unnatural thickness, and with a guttural groan, he released his bladder, feeling much of it flood into this thing, making it bulge out, the skin turning whiter, the screams dying into a gargle as its mouth became the only feature remaining of it’s pasty white face. and RJ’s piss began overflowing the mouth, cascading onto the floor, soaking his hairy, clawed feet. It wasn’t a person anymore, it was just a thing, a filthy urinal. RJ…RJ didn’t want that, he wanted to…to feel good, like he did in the dark. He backed away, leaving the urinal brimming with piss, and the darkness swallowed him once more into their arms.

What they wanted was simple. They wanted his humanity. They wanted his soul, they wanted him to join them, to become the monster he truly was. Part of him fought, but he was weak, he’d always been weak. He always hated that part of him, that morality, that thing which had questioned his cruelty, doubted his self-serving actions his whole life. He was happy to be rid of it. He was…a beast. Violent, angry, vicious. He only followed that which he feared–and he learned to fear the presence, through pain. Pleasure was…so much better, so much more desirable, he would do anything for to feel good.

The light didn’t return for a long time. When it did, he found himself alone, in a small sliver of light just a few yards wide, the light making him shield his eyes. Unlike much of the bathroom, this part he now found himself in wasn’t lined by toilets or urinals, but by two mirrors on either side–and for the first time, he could see himself, his monstrous form. He could no longer stand on his feet alone–the massive bulk of his chest and neck forced him onto his hands as well, like an ape, his hands and feet covered with red-brown fur and tipped with black claws. His face–there was no longer anything remotely human. A snout, a maw, filled with glistening teeth crusted woth something black, white eyes shot with red veins, and deeper…there, right inside him, that same void. It was…in him now, contained him, as he contained it. He licked his chops with a purple tongue, leaving a line of slobber, feeling his cock emerge. Something…was coming. He’d been brought back for a reason, to punish someone, and the lights on one side of where he stood flicked on.

There. There, a few yards away. A man. A nasty, resistant man. He’d been there for weeks, it looked like, his clothing ragged, his face exhausted. He was scooping water from a toilet with filthy, cupped hands, trying to drink, hoping it was clean. The darkness, his God, it had been working on him, wearing him away, but he needed to be forced, he needed violence, he needed to witness his own helplessness and weakness.

RJ roared–the man turned to him, and the look of terror in his eyes made RJ desire the hunt, the fuck, even more. He had no chance–the beast ripped his clothes from him, pinned him to the floor, and rammed his cock into him, biting down, drawing and tasting blood, fucking him not until RJ came, shuddering, which he did over and over again. No, not until the man was sobbing on the floor, and yet pushing back, aching to be filled by this monster’s cock, did RJ withdraw and slink back into the void, into the presence to which he belonged, and together, they cut the lights, and swarmed their new prey into the dark.

The Bathroom of the Lost (Part 2)

It was more than darkness–it wasn’t that he couldn’t sense the world, it was that the world had ceased to exist. He couldn’t see light anywhere around him, he couldn’t feel the floor beneath his feet, but what he could feel was…hands. Or something that could be hands, or could, perhaps, be something hand like. Tentacles? Claws? There were so many of them, so many things touching him, that he couldn’t quite decipher any particular sensation, beyond a general, constant, violation. Whatever they were, they ripped away his clothes, leaving him naked, and began tugging at his cock, sliding…things into his ass and his mouth. The…smell of the bathroom only grew more intense, a filthy stank musk that seemed to press around him like a bubble, and then came something he could only describe as…a presence.

The other hands and sensations, they had felt….small. Disconnected from any sort of agency, but this–this felt like a person, or something person like, inches from him in the dark. There was a…heat, or an awareness of a body, but he couldn’t feel anything when he reached out, trying to touch, or grab, anything solid around him in the void. The heat pressed closer, to the side of his face, and he felt something slimy and thick worm around the surface of his ear, and then plunge inside his head, forcing its way into him, making him scream and go completely rigid, the other being taking the opportunity and forcing their way into him as well, into his ass, his mouth, his eyes, the very pores of his skin, the pressure inside his skull, his head…heating up. He could almost hear a voice, a whisper. It wasn’t words, or it wasn’t words he could understand, but the thoughts and the feelings…he could feel them. A hunger, a desire, a freedom. They were…offering him something. Offering him something, and all he had to do, all…all he had to do was…

The light returned. He wasn’t standing, like he had been, he was crouching in a corner, between two toilets, shaking and sweating and muttering uncontrollably, trying to understand what had just happened to him. He put a hand on the rim of the nasty toilet seat, and his eyes went wide–that…that wasn’t his hand. It was…huge. Large enough to wrap all the way over the thick rim of the toilet, the back coated with hair that ran all the way up his thick, veiny forearm and to his shoulder, where it grew even thicker. He hefted himself up and looked down at himself, at his body. RJ had always been proud of his physique, of being muscled, but he’d never given into the temptation fo drugs. He was proud of being a natural stud–but now, now it looked like he’d been juicing for years. His physique had exploded in size, his thick and solid, stretch marks visible under his hairy body–the fucking hair! He’d kept himself waxed diligently, all his life since he was teenager, but this! He’d never grown hair like this. He shook his head side to side, feeling hair whip around his head–both his short hair had grown into a thick, greasy mane reaching his shoulders, and his beard had filled in across his face–something else he’d never allowed to happen in his life.

Simultaneously, another bank of lights flicked on, and the stranger from before appeared, screaming “–me! Get the fuck off me, you can’t have me, you can’t have me!” It was clear he’d been screaming before the lights had turned on, but why RJ had been unable to hear him, only ten feet away, he didn’t know. His head…felt sluggish, but he could…smell him. He smelled just as filthy as before, but somehow he could smell the man better. RJ snorted, feeling his cock grow hard–and it had grown too. He’d been well endowed before, but now it was easily a foot long, with a thick foreskin shrouding the tip. He licked his lips and started stalking towards him, hungry for a fuck, for what…what he needed to do. The stranger saw him, and backed away, shaking his head. “Oh fuck, look what you let them do! Did you fight them at all? You have to listen, you have to stop! You have to fight it!”

Fight it? RJ stopped his advance, trying to listen, trying to…resist. This body, it was wrong, but it felt, and smelled, so good… “What…happened to me?” he said, but his tongue felt thick, the words falling slowly from his mouth.

“Listen, I’ve been here for…for I don’t know how long. They’re getting desperate, they’re trying to get you to do their work for them, but don’t! Don’t do it. We can fight this together, this place. We can get out! Please, please, just trust me, just trust me, and keep control of yourself, please…”

RJ…he wanted to do what the man said, he really did, but his…his body. It kept walking forward. The man kept talking, but he…he was done listening. He was…smelling, smelling him, how much…how much the man wanted him, but he just didn’t…realize it yet. He could smell the want, and it made him so horny. The man tried to feint past him, but RJ grabbed him by the arm and threw him to the ground, got on top of him, snarling like an animal, ripping away the man’s filthy clothes and shoving his cock in him again, raping him roughly, but this time, this time he could tell something was different.

The man fought, but he didn’t fight for long. He smelled RJ, he smelled what he could give him, how important it was to…to submit. After a few hours, the man wasn’t fighting anymore, he was begging for it, and then, hours after that, he was actively serving RJ while he rested, eyes glazed over, mouth drooling as he drank down his stinking piss, ate out his sweaty, hairy hole. RJ felt good–happy. He was doing it, doing what needed to be done, and when the lights went out over them again, the hands welcomed him back, the presence–it was so pleased with him, so happy with what he’d done, embraced him, making…promises, pleasures for him, for RJ, for being such a good boy.

The Bathroom of the Lost (Part 1)

RJ pushed open the door too hard, so it slammed into the back wall, and then stepped into the restroom. A cocky fucker, always ready for action, whether the bitch wanted it or not. One bitch he’d been accosting that night, it turned out, had had enough of him and decided to be dealt with, like all the rest. He rounded the corner, and looked around, confused, the door swinging shut behind with a bang. This bar was one of his regular hangouts, but this wasn’t the restroom. He’d been expecting a small room, barely enough space for the sink, crapper and urinal and the walls between them, but this space was at least three times the size, with no sinks at all–one side of the long room lined with urinals, the other with toilets, and not a partition in sight. The lights were dim and seemed to cut out halfway down the room, leaving much of it shrouded in darkness.

Had the owner planned a fucking remodel or something? He turned around and grabbed for the door handle, but found himself swinging at air. There was no door behind him at all, just more wall, not even a seam to show that a door had been there at all. “What the hell?” he said, “Hey! What the fuck is this, let me out!” he screamed, his voice echoing in the tight room.

“No one can hear you,” a voice said behind him, “or maybe they can, but they don’t care.”

He spun back around, and saw a figure moving in the corner of the room. The man had been crouched down between two urinals, on the edge of the darkness. He stood up now, and he was wearing what looked like a gym outfit–a loose tank, mesh shorts, trainers–but everything he had on was filthy, the tank stained with all sorts of filth, the shorts stiff. The room smelled stale and musky, and RJ was certain that a good amount of it was him.

“I was getting worried, I’ve never been alone in here before, but–”

As the man spoke, a row of lights cut out, shrouding the stranger in total darkness, and he stopped talking entirely. RJ waited a moment or two to see if he’d continue talking, and then stepped forward into the bathroom slowly.

“Yo, you there?” he said, “Man?”

He approached the place on the edge of the darkness where the man had been, and suddenly the lights flicked back on–more of them, in fact, illuminating more of the bathroom than before–but the man had disappeared. Cautious, RJ kept going into the room, trying to remain in the middle between the row of urinals and toilets as best he could, and the lights kept flickering on as he walked. There was no way the bathroom could be this big–it made no physical sense. After about twenty feet of walking forward, he finally stopped and went to go back, only to discover that the lights had turned off, trapping him somewhere in the middle of the room, darkness on both sides.

He hurried over, planning to just run through the dark and back to the wall where he’d started…but something made him pull up short before crossing the penumbra of the shadow. This wasn’t darkness. This close, he realized it was almost solid, and something in his gut, something deep inside him, told him that he shouldn’t go in, that he needed to stay in the light, that he was somehow safe in the light, although he didn’t know what that might mean, safe. Where had that man gone? He shouted out again, but his voice seemed to disappear into the void. He was about to step back from the darkness, when one row of lights flicked on again, right in front of him, and the man appeared inches from his face, facing the other direction, blinking quickly–like he’d emerged from hours in the dark, rather than a minute.

He was…different too. He looked to be even grungier than before, and that ripe musky smell from before had only grown stronger, and…and something else, something else about it too, it was making him hard, it was making him…want to fuck, and he let out a moan, unable to help himself.

“Oh god,” the stranger said, “Oh please, not again, oh fuck…” he didn’t have a chance to get a good look at himself before RJ pushed him up against the wall between two urinals and started licking his sweaty, greasy neck, grinding his cock against him, the musk shutting off his mind little by little, making him unable to think about anything beyond fucking this man, this stranger. RJ tried to get a grip on himself, tried to stop himself. The man was pushing at him, but he only grew rougher, yanking down the man’s pants and slamming his cock deep in the man’s filthy ass. The idea of fucking another man had always turned RJ’s guts, but suddenly the desire to fuck this hole had consumed all of his thoughts.

“You have to stop, please, you have to try and keep control of yourself!” the man screamed, “This is what it wants, what it wants, but you have to, please…”

But RJ couldn’t stop, and he didn’t stop, for what felt like several hours. He raped the nasty stranger, licking up his sweat and grease as he did, swallowing it all down, as much of it as he could, and he would have kept going too, if the lights hadn’t suddenly switched off above them both, and something like hands had dragged him away from the stranger, and into the bathroom’s dark void.

The Worst of Luck – Part 1

Ivan was walking up to the club where he was supposed to meet Terri–or was it Trish? He should probably check that Tinder profile again and make sure he had it right. He could forget their names after he fucked them, after all, but not before. He pulled out his phone and noticed an email notification–from some strange email address–noreply@curses.wiz.

Sorry, you’ve been cursed!

Someone would like you to know that they have brought a curse down upon you. They have chosen to remain anonymous. The curse they have chosen is “The Worst of luck (Friday the 13th Special)”.

Ivan just stared at it, not knowing what to think, and he shook his head. Probably just some strange spam or something. He walked up to the club, showed the bouncer his ID, and got an odd look from him, almost like the bouncer was flirting with him. He ignored him and went inside–only to discover the room was packed with men.

A fucking gay club? What the hell? Why in the world had Tammy wanted to meet here? He pulled out his phone again and checked her messages–and discovered that he had managed to flip two numbers in the address somehow–the bar she was waiting at was at least six or seven blocks up. He cursed at himself, tried to put his phone in his pocket, but managed to miss it entirely, dropping it right on the floor, watching the screen crack and go black. He shouted “Fuck!” bent down quickly to try and do something–anything, and heard something else–a loud rip, as the seat of his jeans split open up the entire back seam.

He froze. Everyone around him was staring at him…some with a look of pity, but more than a few were looking right at his ass…because he didn’t have any underwear on. He usually didn’t wear any–with his tight jeans he could show off his package better without it, but that, obviously, had been a miscalculation tonight. Unable to believe that quick succession of terrible luck, he picked up the bits of his phone from the floor, hurried over to the nearest place he could sit, and plopped down, trying to figure out what to do.

He had ended up making his way over to a cozy ring of couches surrounding a small table, and one man sitting there had witnessed the entire event. He got up, made his way around the table and sat down right next to Ivan, shocking him–especially once he looked at who exactly had joined him. Ivan was fairly bulky, and spent quite a bit of time at the gym getting larger, but at five foot six inches, he could only be so intimidating. The older man, clad in a black leather uniform, was nearly a foot taller, and rather menacing. If he hadn’t just ripped open his pants, he would have booked it, but he decided that he’d rather not expose his ass to a room full of faggots again unless he had to.

“Well that was quite the show there,” the man growled. The implication was humorous–his delivery was rather more sinister. “How about a drink to make things a bit better? Bitch!” he shouted at the man he’d been sitting with. He was smaller, dressed in far less clothing, with a chain collar around his neck, “Get me and my friend here two double whiskeys.”

The man scrambled up–Ivan inched away from the man towards the edge of the couch, but he couldn’t get up, or at least, not without everyone seeing him–but the man in the uniform wrapped an arm low around his back, and pulled him back over.

“Now where do you think you’re going, buddy?” he said, “I sure did like that view you gave me, and I think I might like playing with you a bit more.”

Fuck this, Ivan thought, he didn’t care who saw him, he was getting out of here. He stood up, but the man grabbed his pants, ripping the seat open wider, the gash in the fabric opening under his crotch all the way to the front fly, revealing his cock and balls as well. The man took advantage of his surprise, and yanked him back down.

“Goodness, those pants of yours sure aren’t made of very good material–I don’t think we can let you leave now, with that cock of yours hanging out.” The bitch returned with two whiskeys, and he helped his master hold open Ivan’s mouth as they poured his in, the pill still dissolving in the bottom. “Don’t fuckin’ worry man, we’re gonna have lots of fun with you and that hole of yours, and you’re gonna love every second of it–I fuckin’ guarantee it.”

He wasn’t on the couch anymore. He was swinging on a sling in some void, or maybe just in the air. His clothes were gone, he could see his blurry naked body, legs thrown up and attached to chains, and there were men all around him, so many men, all of their faces blurring together, but Master was there, he could focus on Master, leering down over him.

“…for the fun to start?”

Men cheering, the noise made him want to vomit, but he couldn’t quite hold his head up, couldn’t quite keep his limbs from going completely slack. He rolled up, using as much effort as he could muster, and saw someone step up to his ass, a hand running along his crack. He shivered. Why did he just shiver? His ass felt wet and loose, like there was lube in it, and then a pressure, something pushing inside of him, and he let out a loud groan, feeling his cock start pulsing and spraying cum up his chest, more cheering.

“…Fucker just can’t fucking contain himself, I told you you were going to enjoy this. Now about about we plug up your other hole too?” Master was grinning, he came around to his face, and there was his cock, and then it was in his mouth, it was in his mouth, and Ivan was gagging on it. He couldn’t get air, he couldn’t breathe–

“Relax man, fuckin’ relax.”

–He was choking, he was going to die–

“Calm the fuck down!”

–he didn’t want to die he didn’t–

A scream.

The taste of blood in his mouth.

“He bit me! That fucker bit me!”

He couldn’t stay awake, he was fading again. His vision was spinning, but Master was angry, he was holding his cock, hand bloody, and oh was he angry. He was just having the worst of luck tonight, and he had a feeling it wasn’t going to get any better from here, and then he was out.

Commission: Twenty Years Delayed

CAUTION: This is a nasty one.

“His name is Blake Kingston, bitch! He has to be here, you’re just not looking hard enough, ya dumb cunt!” Freddie said, leaning across the folding table and glaring at the middle aged woman seated in front of a pile of name tags. Above the table at the entrance of the high school gym was a banner that read “Treston High School Class of 1994 Reunion.” He leaned closer; she squirmed away from him as gracefully as she could, but couldn’t avoid the cloud of breath which seemed to be some horrid combination of toilet and ashtray.

“Sir, please don’t yell at me, I still have his nametag here. If he’s arrived already, he hasn’t picked it up. Now…if I can get your name, I can get your registration taken care of…and…and you can’t smoke in here.”

Freddie clenched his teeth down harder on his cigar. “You gonna take it from me?”

She made no further mention of it. He gave her his name when she asked again, and she startled, looked up at him. Freddie Williams? Sweet little shy chubby Freddie? She’d seen him at the last reunion, and he’d been so…normal. Still, she could recognize his eyes, through the plume of smoke, and wondered what in the hell had happened to turn him into…this thing. This leather clad, foul smelling, crude, hairy beast of a biker. Happy that she could feel pity instead of anger, she handed him his name tag with a smile, and waved him into the gym. Suspicious, Freddie took it and clipped it to his ratty leather vest, and lumbered into the gym he barely recognized. The school had been through a remodel in the last few years, and he felt almost no connection to the place anymore. He was only here to see Blake anyway–he’d promised he’d be here. Still, maybe Freddie had just arrived first. He hung around by the door, checking out everyone who came in. But the attendees stopped arriving at around seven, and angry that he’d been stood up, he scarfed down as much as he could from the buffet before someone told him to stop, and then started cruising his middle aged classmates.

Many of them, now almost in their forties, had started to fill out. More than a few had grown in beards. Unfortunately, most had wives and girlfriends in tow. Still, that didn’t mean much, right? Hell, he’d thought he was straight too, before he’d met Blake–both times, in fact. He’d taught him how to please a cock back in high school, and shown him again at the last reunion ten years later. He set his eyes on a few men who didn’t seem entirely disgusted by him. By this point, Freddie was good and drunk–the two drink limit didn’t apply when you had a flask of cheap whisky in your vest. He struck up conversations with a few guys, and eventually followed one of them to the bathroom.

Unfortunately, what drunken Freddie had taken to be sexual arousal was simply an attempt at being polite. In fact, the man had excused himself to the bathroom in an attempt to avoid further conversation. When Freddie clomped into the bathroom, came up to the man at the urinal and grabbed his cock from behind, he was less than pleased.

“What the fuck do you think you’re doing?”

“Come on man, I know yer fuckin’ horny. I got stood up tonight, at least give me a load a cum for the ride home, I’m fuckin’ thirsty.”

“You’re fucking disgusting.”

“Hell yeah I am,” Freddie leaned in closer, “I’ll be as disgusting as ya want. Drink yer piss, hell I even eat shit. Go on, take a shit, I’ll eat it out a the bowl while ya fuck my nasty asshole.”

“You’re fucking insane!” the man said, tried to get away, but Freddie pinned him up against the outside wall of the stall with his massively fat, four hundred pound body.

“Fuck you man, fuck you ‘n your fuckin’ attitude. I came in here for some fuckin’ cum, ‘n I’m not leavin’ without you fuckin’ one of my holes. So pick one, and feed this pig.”

The man tried to hit Freddie, but his fist just sank into Freddie’s fat body. When Freddie countered with a slap of his leather gloved hand, the man stood there, shocked, giving Freddie the opportunity to drop the man’s slacks, get down on his knees, and start sucking on his soft cock. Much to the man’s embarrassment, it didn’t stay soft for long, and he let off a moan. As disgusting as Freddie was, he knew what to do with his mouth. Figuring it would be better to just let the brute have his way, the man tried to cum as quickly as possible, shot a load down Freddie’s throat, and then zipped up and fled as quick as he could. Freddie savored the taste for a moment, gave a great big belch, and headed back to the gym. Maybe tonight wouldn’t be a complete waste after all.

He scanned the crowd–still no sign of Blake. Where the fuck was he? Freddie heaved a sigh, and noticed someone across the floor staring at him, someone he hadn’t noticed earlier. He was too old to be a member of his class–short, with a round gut, bushy white beard and wire rimmed glasses, he had to be at least sixty, if not seventy. And something about him seemed…oddly familiar. Still, he didn’t seem like the kind of guy who would be interested in a guy like him, so he steered clear, but as he hunted for another cock to suck, he realized the older man was never too far away, and being more than a little creepy. Still, what could a fat old man do to a pig like him? Freddie managed to scare another ex-jock classmate into a trip to the bathroom, and licking his lips, followed after a minute later. The older man waited a couple more, and then set off down the hall after them both.

Freddie was in the middle of trying to rip open the man’s pants when the older man stepped into the room, and said, “Nasty Slut Pig, trance out.”

Immediately, Freddie’s eyes glazed over, his limbs limp. The man stepped away, not at all sure what was happening, and ran out of the room as fast as he could.

The older man stepped up to Freddie and spoke to him for a couple of minutes. When Freddie shook himself awake, for some reason he couldn’t explain, he found himself compelled to leave the reunion with the older gentleman, and follow him on his hog back to the man’s house. None of this worried him in the least–and that worried him most of all.

***

“I know you don’t remember who I am,” the older man said as he handed Freddie a glass of bourbon, “Maybe in time, I can help you put some of those memories back together, but that will have to wait until I have you under better control. I’m happy the trigger worked for me as well as it works for Blake–hypnosis can be so…fickle at times.”

Freddie just stared at the bourbon, and knocked it back in a few chugs. He needed a drink badly. Why in the hell was he even here, and what did Blake have to do with this old man? “I don’t understand. Why am I here?”

“Because this is where you should have been, twenty years ago. You never showed up, and I never pursued you, because I was just happy you never reported me! Imagine my surprise when the issue was that you’d simply had that nasty concussion. Now, why don’t you go ahead and strip for me? I’ve only seen pictures, but Blake has been working so hard on you all these years now–I’d love to see the changes for myself.”

Before Freddie could process the request, his hands were already pulling off his clothes. Trying to catch up to himself, he found that he couldn’t quite control his body. A moment later, he was naked, his clothes strewn about, and the older man came up and started inspecting him. “Goodness, you are a fat pig, aren’t you? How much do you weigh now?”

“Uh…435, last I checked.”

“And your tattoos–absolutely filthy, I love them. Blake chose them well.”

Freddie stepped away from the man, “Alright, who the fuck are you, and how do you know Blake? This shit is gettin’ creepy.”

“Oh Freddie, the three of us have quite a bit of history together–it’s a shame you can’t remember the first part. I was your psychology teacher, Mr. Weylan. You and Blake were…well, you were an experiment–and a very successful one at that.”

The name rang a bell, but it wasn’t tied to any memories–his head started hurting, like it always did when he tried to think of the time before he got that concussion in that car accident just before graduation. He’d been lucky that all he’d suffered was some amnesia. But none of this made any sense at all. “I don’t…I don’t understand.”

“That’s quite alright–you’re just a dumb pig anyway, no reason for you to trouble yourself. But Blake, well, Blake has been a very naughty slave, trying to keep you a secret from me, and he really must be punished for it. Luckily you’re here now, and you can help me out. Why don’t you come downstairs and into the dungeon with me, and we can see how Blake is coming along.”

Fighting himself the whole way, Blake calmly followed Mr. Weylan down into the basement, where he saw Blake strapped into a chair against the wall, some strange helmet covering his face, pads on his nipples and his cock. Cum was splattered all over the floor in front of him. He was even larger than Freddie remembered–at the ten year reunion a decade earlier, Blake had strutted into the gym, muscle bound, wearing nothing but leather, reeking of sweat and cum. He remembered talking to Blake a lot, but couldn’t much of the conversation. In fact, he’d done a lot of listening, now that he thought about it.

Mr. Weylan walked up to a computer next to the chair, and examined it. “It looks like somewhere between ninety and ninety-five percent trained–certainly enough for a test drive, eh Freddie?”

Before Freddie could ask for an explanation, Mr. Weylan had shut down the program and pulled the helmet from Blake’s head. His friend looked around, trying to process the thoughts streaming through his mind, nostrils flaring, and he dove from the chair to his hands and knees, licking up all of his cum from the cement floor.

“Oh yes, very good Blake, but don’t you see who’s here? It’s Freddie–why don’t you show him some of what you’ve been learning.”

The eyes that turned to Freddie were nearly feral with lust. Blake sprung up and charged at him, sending them both crashing to the ground, Blake burying his tongue and nose in every nasty flap and fold of the pig’s fat body. Freddie tried to push him off and get away, but Blake was on top and much stronger. Seeing him struggle, Mr. Weylan called out, “Nasty Slut Pig, freeze,” and all of Freddie’s muscles tensed in place, allowing Blake to focus on licking his friend’s filthy body clean.

“Goodness, he is an eager little filth slave, eh Freddie?” Mr Weylan said, standing over them both, “I know Blake intended for you to be his bottom. Can you imagine, the two of you running off together? I think this will be much more interesting. Still, I bet Blake is hungry and very thirsty–he’s been down here for almost two days straight! Go on, and piss yourself Freddie.”

The strong scent of his piss streaming from his cock, flowing out from his gunt, attracted Blake down to his crotch, where he lapped up as much as he could.

“Good, now go ahead and shit too–pump out all that nasty crap for Blake to eat, pig.”

Freddie felt his ass loosen beyond his control, his shit flowing out onto the ground beneath him, smearing across his ass. Blake forcefully rolled him over and dove headlong into his brown crack, eating as much as he could, Freddie still frozen in place. He could see Mr. Weylan looming over him, his cock out, jacking off.

“Oh yes, this is going to be a lot of fun, I think. I have so many techniques now! Blake has done a fine job with what he had access to, those subliminals and those skype chats of yours. But now we can continue what we started all those years ago! Why, before long, you’re going to be the nastiest fucker ever–pissing and shitting yourself uncontrollably, dominating Blake here, forcing him to fatten up like you. Maybe we’ll even castrate him together–how does that sound? Make him a real hog. It’s what he fucking deserves, for what he tried to do, the fucker–fuck!”

Mr. Weyland’s cock shot out a load of cum which landed across the back of Freddie’s shaven head. He was terrified, but without any control over himself, all he could do was shake with fear.

“Goodness, I got a bit carried away there, I think. Blake, hold off for a moment, let Freddie here stand up.”

Blake reluctantly crawled off Freddie, and he stood up. “Why? Why are you doing this?”

“Go sit in the chair, Freddie. I’ve got to get your program loaded up.”

Freddie went and sat down in the chair where Blake had been–the seat had an open bottom, and he could smell Blake’s piss and shit in the bucket under the hole. He was terrified, and yet more turned on than he could even fathom. Mr. Weylan worked at the computer for a moment, Blake dragging out the bucket and scarfing down the contents while their old teacher came over and tightened the straps on Freddie’s limbs.

“Don’t worry, when you wake up in a few days, everything will make much more sense, I promise.” He set the helmet over Freddie’s head, and said something he couldn’t quite make out. Then, the visor exploded in a shock of color, Freddie’s mouth went slack, and his training, twenty years delayed, resumed.