The Kingsford County Line (Part 6)

Tyler looked at his extended index finger, at the filth under his chipped nails, skin crusted with grease and who knew what else, but like in a dream, his hand floated up, grabbed hold, and gave it a tug–and immediately Skip let loose a loud, noxious fart with a chuckle. Tyler chuckled too, but half-heartedly, but once the stench him him like a truck, he let out a groan, and collapsed to his knees. “Oh…Oh fuck! What the, fucking hell, it…smells so fucking…”

“Yeah, probably shoulda warned ya. Pa ‘n I got us some fuckin’ nasty gas. Still, ya don’ mind it that much, do ya?”

Tyler didn’t reply. On his knees, his eyes watering, but vacant, tongue lolling out from his gaping mouth.

“Heh, didn’t even pull that hard,” Skip said, unbuckled his belt and dropped his greasy jeans as he turned around. He didn’t have underwear on, and he stooped slightly, so his ass was inches from Tyler’s face. “Good thing Ah got plenty more.”

“No…No, don’t.” Skip looked up, and saw Dave there, shaking his head, “Please…if…if you have to, just…take me. I need…need some more, please–I’m thirsty still.”

“Shut up, you’re not man enough for me anyway. You’ll get what you need from someone else, but I’m fuckin’ busy. I don’t want to hear a fucking peep, or I’ll give you some shit to eat to keep you occupied.”

Dave looked like he wanted to say something else, but thought better of it. Instead, he grabbed his sopping wet shirt, pulled the collar up past his mouth and started sucking the piss from it.

“Better–now where where were we?” Skip said, looking back at Tyler, “You ready? Cause here it fuckin’ comes!” Skip grabbed his own index, and gave it a hard yank–and this time a massive fart ripped from his hole, powerful enough to ripple his cheeks slightly, and all of it blasted directly into Tyler’s face, who started snorting it up, mouth turning up into a sneer, and with his hands he spread Skip’s ass and shoved his face into the ripe, filthy crack, licking and chewing at the hole while Skip encouraged him with another fart or too, until Tyler was snorting and grunting uncontrollably, his hands fishing his cock free from his pants so he stroke it, shooting a load all over himself, the back of Skip’s boots and the asphalt in a matter of seconds.

It wasn’t too much longer that Pa, came out of the store with a twenty-four pack of cheap beer under his burly arm, walked over to the tow truck and tossed it back behind the seat, and then looked around for Skip. He didn’t see him anywhere–but fuck, he could smell something filthy back around the building–hell, he could smell his boy coming from a mile, he knew his stench so fucking well. So he followed his nose around the side of the building, and sure enough, there he was, bent over, with the face of one of the boys he’d seen earlier shoved in his crack, encouraging him, urging him to dig deeper, suck harder on his filthy hole, get it nice and clean.

“Didn’t think ya’d start without me,” he said, “Heh, ya should see what’s goin’ on inside, fuckin’ Bubba ‘n his gang got a hold a one–almost feel sorry fer ‘em. Sure glad Ah ran intah you ‘n not them.”

Skip pulled his ass away from Tyler, and he tried to follow, tongue greasy, nose a bit brown, eyes still empty of everything other than hunger. “Come on Pa, let’s git ‘em in the truck–we got plenty a time tah dawn tah work on ‘em tahgether.”

“Sounds like a plan tah me!” Pa said, reached down and hauled Tyler up by the arm. His legs were like jelly and Tyler didn’t know who this guy was supporting him, but…but fuck, he smelled good. Almost as good as Tyler. Pa had his arm under his, and Tyler leaned it to the redneck’s exposed pit, licking at it with as much eagerness as he had Skip’s hole, and Pa laughed. “Fuckin’ eager!”

“Ah think he’s gonna be perfect. Ya’ve been needin’ some help.”

“Heh, as much as Ah love ya son, yer too much fer one daddy, I know. Come on man, let’s git ya’ll home, where we can have some real fun.”

“S-Sure…home…” Tyler mumbled, and let Pa and Skip help him over to the tow truck.

Pa popped open the driver’s door and helped Tyler inside. “Only one bench, so ya’ll have tah sit between us–don’t think ya’ll mind though.” Tyler shook his head, still not quite sure what was going on, but…but he was happy. Still, shouldn’t…shouldn’t he be in the van? That van, over there? He saw his Uncle Logan get out of the side yelling at Pa for some reason, but before he could say do much Pa laid him out on the asphalt with a haymaker to the jaw, and then Skip climbed in the passenger side, Pa hopped in–smashing Tyler between both their filth, and drove off with tires screeching. Tyler wanted to look back, and make sure his uncle was alright, but when he turned to the side he found his face in Pa’s armpit again…and he’d rather lick that anyway, right?

“Heh, found an eager one, fer sure,” Pa said, lifting his arm a bit higher to give Tyler better access, steering with his left hand.

“Fuck, shoulda seen the other one, sorry piece of shit. Got one whiff a me ‘n pissed himself.”

Pa laughed, “Don’ know, sounds right up our alley tah me.”

“Nah, don’t need no fuckin’ jittery fucker, Pa,” Skip said, “Not fer what Ah got in mind.”

Pa looked over at his son in the passenger seat, illuminated by the dim instrument panel and the tip of his cigarette, “Yeah, Ah think Ah see what yer lookin’ fer. Just…don’t replace me, ya know?”

“Ain’t nobody getting replaced Pa, don’ be gettin’ all sappy on me, ya fucker–’sides, yer gonna be helpin–he’ll be yers as much as mine.”

“Shit Skip, ya know all Ah need is you.”

“Yeah, but is that all ya want?” Skip asked, and looked over. He could smell how horny his daddy was, with this fucker’s mouth suckin’ at his ripe pit, he knew he wanted it. “I know ya got lots a love Pa, Ah made ya that way, ‘n I gots plenty too.”

Tyler, between them, was only able to half listen to the conversation. The rest of him was either enthralled by the filthy smell of Pa’s pit, which only seemed to be growing fouler the more he cleaned it, or terrified beyond belief. What in the hell was he doing here? Had he really just climbed into some strange tow truck, by himself, with these two freaks? What had he been thinking? Then again, it felt more like he hadn’t been thinking, ever since…since that first nasty fart. Fuck, that…that had smelt so damn good, fuck! No–No, he had to get out of here, he had to. It took all the force he could muster inside himself, but he managed to rip his face from Pa’s pit with a gasp, wipe his slobber from around his mouth on his arm, and say, “No, no, I want to go back.”

Skip laughed, “See what I mean? Got a strong one.”

“Ah heard strong ones are just annoying,” Pa said, “Always gettin’ in tah trouble before they finally settle down. Hell, Hendrick was one a those, ‘n ya hate that fuck.”

“Yer fergettin’ Pa, tha ya were pretty strong willed yerself, ‘n look at ya now. Most fuckers jus’ don’t know how tah break ‘em right, make ‘em need ya.”

“I said I want to go back–please, just let me go back.”

“Pa, why don’ ya go on ‘n let one loose, give ‘em a taste a yer shit–he already got a taste a mine.”

Pa smiled around his own cigarette, lifted his inside leg and let a long, loud fart loose towards Tyler. In the small cabin, which already reeked of musk and smoke, he hadn’t imagined that it could smell worse, until the dank, rotten egg slammed into his nose. It wasn’t quite as pungent as Skips had been, but it didn’t matter–unable to stop himself, he was snorting and inhaling deep, bucking his hips mindlessly.

“Fuck, look how riled up that got ‘em–’n that wasn’t even that nasty! Damn Skip, ya sure can pick ‘em.”

“See Pa? He’s fuckin’ perfect. ‘Sides, ain’t ya always wanted a brother? Some filthy fuck to pal around town with?”

“Ya mean–”

“Ah jus’ want ya tah be happy Pa, that’s all.”

“Aww fuck son–I love ya so damn much.”

Between them, Tyler was trying desperately to get his body back under his control, but he couldn’t avoid the stench. Skip lifted a leg and let loose a fart of his own, and that only made things worse. He couldn’t think about anything beyond the smell, and how…and how much he wanted it. It reeked, sure, but he wanted it all the same, wanted it all. He only dimly realized that, at some point he had undone the fly of his pants and had begun jacking off. The first load blasted out of him, cum splattering across the radio in front of him, Skip wiping some of it off with a finger and giving it a taste.

“Fuck, why…why do I…why do I want this…” Tyler gasped, sobbing, and Skip hushed him, wiping his tears away with one hand.

“Don’ worry ‘bout that Unc. Here–let’s git ya somethin’ tah settle ya down.”

Skip pulled out a box of cigarettes and tapped one out, stuck it in Tyler’s mouth and lit it for him. It wasn’t the first cigarette Tyler had tried–he’d attempted to smoke one once back in middle school, with some “cool kids”, but this was different. Obviously unfiltered, and the leaf was cheap and rank, and yet, just like the filthy musk rolling off the two men who’d kidnapped him, he couldn’t stop once he got a taste. When Skip handed him a beer, he didn’t bother questioning it, and after a few more miles,  as they all started rolling past the outskirts of Kingsford itself, he had a solid buzz going, and had his face happily stuck in Skip’s pit now, licking it clean, taking the occasional moment to take a drag off his cigarette or slug some of the beer down. Before too much longer, he’d stopped finding the whole situation so strange. If anything, this is where he belonged, right? At least that’s what Skip and Pa were telling him, and…and they wouldn’t lie.

At last, they rolled into a very rundown trailer park–one of several they’d passed along the road in varying states of disrepair. The sign out by the road called it “Louisiana Acres.” Pa drove them around until they came to a well-rusted single wide, pulled the tow truck up in front of it, and got out.

Well Unc, welcome home man.”

Home? It didn’t feel like home. Hadn’t…hadn’t he been doing something else? Been going somewhere else? Still, when Skip waved him to follow, his feet shuffled after him, up the steps, and into the trailer behind them.

The Kingsford County Line (Part 5)

“All ‘lone out here, eh?” Skip asked, taking a drag off his cigarette, and following it with a loud, frothy belch, “On a trip? Ya look perty young tah be travelling all ‘lone like that–pretty brave, pretty adult.”

“No…Not alone. My dad and big brother are inside, and my uncle’s in the van. My friend, too, over there.”

“Ah–a family road trip. Hate tah break up a family, ya know? Don’ know what I’d do without mah Pa with me.”

Tyler just squinted at him, a bit confused. “I don’t…what?”

“Don’t worry about it. Where’d you say that friend of yours was?”

“He’s…over there, around the side of the building. He’s being kind of pissy, cause we’re lost.”

“He, won’t be lost for long, trust me,” Skip said, walked around the van and off towards where Daniel was, “Heh, pissy.”

“Why are you going over there? He…He doesn’t want to talk to you, trust me.”

Skip turned and glared at him, and something…something in his eyes froze Tyler in place, “Git in the van boy, ‘n don’t worry ‘bout yer friend, I’ll take good care a him.”

Tyler was still confused, but his hand was already grasping for the sliding door of the van, and he climbed inside, even as he watch Skip slip around the corner and out of sight. What in the hell was that? It didn’t make any fucking sense at all, anything that had just happened. So he reached around and shook his uncle awake again.

“Wha–now what?”

“Uncle Logan, I…I think something weird is going on out there, these guys showed up, and…and I don’t know what, but David is out there, and I…”

“Tyler, you don’t have to be afraid of people, you know that–what’s your dad always tell you?”

“Most people are good, I know, but this was really weird, but would you…go check on him, for me?”

“Tyler, you sound like you’re six or something.”

The truth was, the way Skip had stared at him, the way he’d smelled–he’d felt like he was a child again–no. No, Skip had looked at him…it was hard to understand, really, like he’d been sizing him up somehow–not what he was, but deeper than that. No, standing in front of Skip, he’d felt…old, somehow. Older, maybe, but without control over himself, without control over anyone else. But…but maybe his head was just getting the better of him. This long drive, being lost. He was just…he needed to get a grip. Still, he should go see whether Dave was alright. He turned around and pulled the door open again, got out, and followed where he’d seen Skip gone, around the corner.

It was dark back there, but enough lights were around that he could see the scene clearly enough–Dave was where he’d been when Tyler left him, sitting with his back to the brick wall. Skip was in front of him, his jeans open and cock out, and he was…pissing on him. He could see the stream glittering in the dark, arcing through the air, hitting Dave in the face, his friend’s mouth open wide, eyes locked with Skip’s own. “What–What the fucking hell!” Tyler shouted, and Skip swung towards him, breaking eye contact with Dave.

Almost immediately, Dave tried to scramble away to the side, but all Skip had to say was “Fuckin’ stay still,” and suddenly he was frozen, unable to move an inch.

“What…what the hell are you doing to him, you fucking freak?”

“Nothing he won’t want more than anything else come dawn–go back to the van, this don’ concern you in the least, anymore, as greedy as I might like to be,” he said, and Tyler felt that pressure behind that glare, but this time…this time he was ready for it, and he fought back, holding himself in place as he feet tried to walk him away, back to his uncle in the van, but no–no, this wasn’t happening. This was fucking wrong. Skip sensed his resistance–for a moment he pushed harder, knowing it would be a small matter to break him…but why? Because if Skip was being honest with himself, he liked this one much better–he, at least, hadn’t pissed himself in fright as soon as he’d gotten his first whiff of him. He cocked his head to the side, and then broke his gaze with Tyler, and looked down at Dave, licking his lips of piss, but his eyes were brimming with terror and confusion. It’s true, breaking up a family was cruel, but it wasn’t like the rest of Kingsford would feel the same way, so why not go with his gut? Because…because he liked this one. This one was going to be so much more fun to break, than the whimpering pisser he’d found back here. “Ya know what? have it yer way, I’ll leave’m alone, ‘n take you instead. Ah like you better anyway.”

“What?” Tyler asked. He tried to back away, but his feet had now glued themselves to the pavement, as Skip approached him,” What are you talking about?”

“What, you think we’d just leave ya fer the rest a the town? Nah, been looking tah round out our family a bit, git’s a bit lonely, just the two a us–but Ah also like a bit of a challenge…” he walked closer to Tyler, and with each step, the intensity of his stench doubled. In his mind, Tyler wanted to run, but the smell seemed to be wrapping itself around him, weighing down his limbs, holding him in place somehow as the redneck approached him. This close, nearly toe to toe with him,. it was getting hard to see, hard to think about anything beyond the stench. “Too bad Ah wasted mah piss–still, there’s more than one way tah git a bit filthy, ya know? Go on buddy, pull mah finger, ‘n see what happens.”

Cleaning House (Part 6)

This became my new normal over the next several months. A fuck in the morning, a massive breakfast, a few hours cleaning Daddy’s body and eating his ass under the rimchair, lunch, chores, a massive dinner, and then a relaxing evening before bed. I…I loved it. All of it. I felt like I had find my proper place in life, and I thanked him every day for giving me the opportunity to serve him as his boy.

As I adjusted to my new role, and my new life, Daddy slowly began to impose more rules on me to follow, controlling more and more of me until I couldn’t so much as go to the bathroom without his permission, and often, his supervision. He forbade me from shaving, and my beard filled in, thicker and faster than I remember before, when I’d tried growing it out. I, too, had to stop showering, and certain things began disappearing from my shopping list–most notably, toilet paper. Still, from how dirty Daddy’s ass is, I don’t think he ever used it much, and he loved seeing the streaks growing in the seats of my whities…and to be honest, it turns me on too, especially when he gags me with my own crusty, cum soaked underwear while he rims and fucks my own dirty hole.

I was still growing steadily, and with winter here and no tasks outside the cabin, I had no physical activity to bulk with…and so my waistline kept expanding. By New Year’s I’d hit 300, and none of the clothes I’d bought fit me–instead of allowing me to buy anything new, Daddy insisted I just wear his old cast offs, including his old underwear. I…fuck, the first time I pulled on one of his massive pairs of briefs, and I felt how crusty and filthy they were, I couldn’t stop myself, and I jacked off right there in front of him while he watched, grinning, listening to me belch and snort and grunt like a fucking pig. My masturbation habits–it’s gotten really bad now. Even at the store in town (Daddy doesn’t see much reason for me to go to the laundromat anymore), I have to consciously remind myself to get my hand out of my pants…and more than once, waiting in line…I have eeked out a quiet load, and knowing that people are right there…fuck. What the fuck is wrong with me.

I think back, and I…I don’t remember being this perverse. I mean, I had ideas, sure. I’d fantasized about being owned by a daddy for as long as I can remember, but I…I’d never done anything, not until I’d met Joe. My ex-boyfriends were nothing like him either, usually slim guys close to my age, the same sorts of guys who do nothing for me when I look at them now around town, but one grungy looking trucker, and I have to duck into an alley to jack off in my pants, thinking about how dirty his crack is, and if he might let me lick it–whether Daddy might let me lick it, I mean. He’d…talked, a few times, about sharing me out with other men. I didn’t know if he meant it, or if he just said it because he’d found out it turns me on…at least, until that night we took a drive in January, out to a local rest area. We stayed there all night, and I had to ask every man who came in whether I could be their urinal, toilet paper and cum dump…and several said yes.

Yeah, I forgot that–when Daddy made me drink his piss. It was late one night, when we’d polished off a twenty-four pack together, and he was too drunk to stand up easily, so he started…talking to me, telling me he thought it was time I drank piss–I wanted his piss, right? I…I hadn’t really thought too hard about it, but I did–so I got down, and he pissed down my throat, and I nearly choked, that first time. I’m better now–much better. But back at the rest area, Daddy just watched, and chastised me if I fucked up in front of anyone. He told me on the way home that it had been a present for me being such a good boy, getting to serve so many men…but I didn’t really know how I felt about it, at the time, but the more he took me…the more I looked forward to it. It’s like he knows what I want even before I figure it out for myself.

In time, the snow melted, and winter turned into spring. I…barely recognized myself, by the time March rolled around, and I got the call from my sister. I weighed about 330 pounds, I had an inch long beard all over my face, and my hair was a tangled mess. My clothes were filthy, I jacked off close to eight or nine times a day, and the entire focus of my life was Daddy–keeping him clean, keeping him happy, drinking his piss, licking his ass, and being fed by him until I was blue in the face. In the winter…the world shrinks. Everything outside is white, and the world is gone, hidden. I’d forgotten about so much else, but that phone call…I missed her call, twice. Honestly, I was afraid to call her, I was afraid to talk to anyone other than Daddy, but he made me call her back.

My mom had died, suddenly. She was in tears, and needed help with the funeral, she was furious I hadn’t listened to her messages. I felt…awful. I told Daddy, and I said I had to go home for a few days…I didn’t even think about what I looked like. About what anyone might say about me. Still, Daddy agreed–I needed to go, and say goodbye, and help my sister with what I could. So I got in my car–as best I could fit in the tiny sedan–and drove over to the next state…but it wasn’t until my sister saw me, and smelled me, that I realized I was never going to belong there again, in that world.

Cleaning House (Part 5)

I was still in Joe’s bed, surrounded by his stench, and surrounded by him, as well. He must have climbed in without disturbing me, and he’d wrapped me in his arms and fallen asleep. I felt so…safe and secure, and happy, and I could feel his hard cock pressed against one cheek of my ass…and I definitely liked that too.

Fuck, what had I done yesterday? What had we done? What had he done to me? I’d wanted that–I’d always wanted that, for as long as I could recall, but…but doing it, it had felt so terrifying. Terrifying that…that I really enjoyed it as much as I had. No one should enjoy that right? Didn’t that all mean I was broken, somehow? I didn’t want to think about it, and so…and so, I didn’t. I snuggled back against Joe, focused on him snoring gently in my ear, and drifted back off, until he woke an hour or so later.

He kissed me, groped me in bed, and then pushed me onto my stomach and crawled behind me, spread my ass and ate out my hole. It felt…fuck, it still feels amazing, whenever he does that, but better when I was tight, when him shoving his tongue in my ass made me shake and groan and writhe under him, humping the mattress until I came in my briefs. He opened me up enough that he could slide his cock into me with just his spit as lube, and he fucked me, rough, for a few minutes before he came. The fuck…it wasn’t much, but the feel of his tongue. Rimming was something I’d thought of, but always been to scared to do.

Breakfast was next, and we followed the same pattern as the night before–I helped him cook my meal, he force fed me the entire thing, and then he cooked a meal for himself while I relaxed on the couch, digesting and jacking off–he demanded two loads from me by the time he finished cooking, and then, I crawled under the table and sucked him off while he ate, and came again at his demand. My cock–it ached, and yet I was still so horny. I felt like someone had flipped a switch in me, and now…now I couldn’t stop myself.

When he finished his meal, he told me it was time I took on a new task, and I followed him back out into the front room. “I hate showerin’, boy,” he told me, “Always have–too big tah really clean up real good. So yer gonna clean me from now on–all over, with that nice tongue a yers, every mornin’.”

I gulped, and started to speak, but he told me to start with his pits…and as soon as I got a good whiff of his musk, I didn’t want to object. I didn’t really want this to stop, did I? I had my dream man here, right in front of me…I couldn’t let this slip away. I spent the next half hour cleaning his upper body, and then moved to his feet at his order. I…fuck, his feet were huge, and I couldn’t stop myself, as I came again, licking them.

I started to work my way up, but he stopped me. “Time tah change seats,” he said.

He got up, hauled a bag out of a closet, and dumped a rimchair out onto the floor, and made me assemble it. I…I’d seen them in porn before, and fantasized about them, sure…but his ass? I thought about how it had felt when he’d rimmed me earlier…and I wanted to make him feel that good too, I realized. I got underneath, and he sat down, his cheeks spread and hole right against my lips. I licked, and he groaned. I licked harder, hand in my underwear, jerking off as I cleaned his ripe, greasy crack while he played his game, and fuck, I was loving it. I felt so used, but I wanted this man to use me. He put his ashtray on my belly, and warned me not to topple it, forcing me to keep my frame as still as I could, even as I licked and proped harder and deeper into him, tasting him and his shit for the first time, and already excited that I would be doing this daily.

The fart caught me by surprise, and with two strokes my cock exploded in my briefs yet again.

“You like that boy? You like daddy’s nasty farts?”

“Y-Yes Daddy.”

“Yeah, not surprised, the way yer chowin’ down on that filthy hole. I bet ya love daddy ass, right boy?”

“Yes Daddy, I do.”

Yeah–good boy, I like hearin’ that–guess ya can spent a bit more time under there, since ya like it so fuckin’ much.”

I serviced his ass for another hour, and then finished licking his ass and thighs clean, ending at his cock, which I sucked off. My jaw ached, and I was so hungry–when he fed me lunch next, he couldn’t stuff me fast enough. That afternoon was spent on chores, and then we ate dinner again–me first, and then him, and after a night of beers, cigars, and another fuck, we fell asleep again in his bed–or our bed, since I never ended up in the guest bed again.

I knew his type. They only come on Friday nights. Wealthy, but not wealthy enough for true luxury. Closeted out of the fear that coming out would jeapordize their climb up the corporate ladder. They only fuck men who they would never see in the city. They also want to fuck us out of a twisted desire they barely understand. They want to be cruel, they spend a career climbing up the backs of hard working men like us, and fucking us is just that last humiliating victory they need to feel justified. They don’t want our names, only give out aliases of their own, and they can’t look us in the eye. This one gave the name Dave–and I made him keep it.

He arrived too early in the day, fresh off work. Like many, he was still in a suit, smoking a pipe. I came later, and he was still looking. You see, some of us just can’t resist that aura–the fantasy. They just haven’t been burned enough. They see that suit, they see that money, that mid-shelf whiskey double in the glass, and they think, “Maybe he wants me, the real me.” But they don’t, and that hope, fuck, they feed on it, they fucking suck it out of us, but I’ve had enough of it, I’ve had enough of them, and I sat down at the bar next to him, and he smelled me, and he smirked. I was the one, he thought, I was the one he wanted, even though he didn’t really know why.

He introduced himself. I remained aloof. This confused him, and he pressed harder for conversation. I berated him, and as insulted as he was, he wanted me more and more. He bought me a drink and tried to drug it; I left it untouched. He bought four more doubles for himself, and got plastered. We ended up in the back of my truck, his tongue all over my body before I skull fucked him. He couldn’t get enough of me, and the whole time, I could see his confusion. This wasn’t how this was supposed to go. He was supposed to string me along. He was supposed to have the reins, he was supposed to be on top, this was supposed to be about him, about his manhood, about his pride, about his need to be in control. When I ordered him to cum, with his mouth buried in my asscrack, and he stroked his cock off, he didn’t want that to happen, he hadn’t wanted any of this, and yet he’d never said no. I dropped him off at his sedan without a word.

He was back on Saturday night. He hadn’t been able to stop thinking about me. He’d spent the whole day at home, mouth dry, hands shaking, horny as hell but unable to cum. He wasn’t in a suit this time, just a shirt and jeans, still smoking a pipe. I made him plead and beg in the bar, in front of everyone. I ridiculed him some more, because I enjoyed watching him want me more after every barbed insult. I got him drunker than the night before and brought him all the way home this time, to my single wide trailer, to my floor littered with beer cans, to my bed covered with sheets I haven’t changed in a year, the whole place stinking of me. As much as it disgusted him, as much as he loathed everything the place stood for, he fell into it. The sweatier and hotter we got the more of himself he lost until he was at my feet, whimpering, sucking my toes, words lost, desire at the center of his mind.

I kept him for five days. I pimped him out to my bar buddies. I made him ditch his pipe, and forced him to smoke the cheapest cigars I could buy at the reservation smoke shop. And after five days, when he reached that limit of both saturation and exhaustion, I dumped him at his car with a note. Well, really it was a to do list. Everything he had to do, if he ever wanted to see me again, if he ever wanted to taste me, if he ever wanted to smell me, if he ever wanted my cock balls deep in his hole again.

I’m sure he tried to go back. He was charismatic enough to pass off four days of missed work as a mistake, or poor judgement. But I’m also sure he dreamed about me. I’m sure he tried to jack off, over and over, but never managed to work out a load. I know he didn’t wash the clothes he’d had on, because I could still smell my musk on them when he arrived back at the bar, two months later, with nothing but a suitcase. I made him go through the list. Some of the tasks I could tell on my own–the horseshoe mustache, the fresh tattoos, the smell of him after a week without a shower. I made him tell me about quitting his job, how it had felt to flush his career down the toilet so he could taste my pits one more time. How it had felt, giving away all of his shit, just so he could live in a trailer park for the rest of his life. It was funny–he’d actually thought he’d be moving in with me, but I straightened him out on that shit real quick. No, he was moving in with Big B–he wasn’t too happy about that, Big B hadn’t been very nice to him when I loaned him out to him for a half a day–and he stormed out, and I just laughed. He came back, of course–where was he gonna go? He felt better after he sucked my cock out behind the bar, and I let him spend the night with me, on the condition he give my unwashed and unwiped asscrack a proper cleaning.

He’s settled in pretty well now, here at Louisiana Acres. Doesn’t even really remember his old name, and spending so much time with me and my filth had eroded the edges of his brain. Big B still doesn’t treat him very well–I’ll see him with a black eye on occasion, but he takes it because he knows he deserves it, and because deep down, he likes the abuse. Besides, he knows he can’t complain, or heaven forbid, leave us! If he left, he knows he’ll never get to smell me again. He knows I’ll never holler at him across the yard again, I’ll never make him crawl across the overgrown grass, and up the steps into my trailer. I’ll never let him suck on my feet or eat out my pits. He’ll never cum again, because smelling me is the only way he’ll shoot a load for the rest of his sorry life. He spends his days managing one of the smoke shops down on the road through the reservation, and his nights are spent at the bar with the rest of us. He sees the men like him come in on Friday nights, and he wants them more than anyone else. He hooks up with them often, willing to do anything they want, with the hope that some his old life might rub off on him, but they always leave him behind, laughing at him like he’d used to laugh at us, but who’s laughing now, fucker? Who’s laughing now?

The Smoker Tapes (Part 4)

[Pictured: Above, Eric and his favorite jockstrap. Below, the man who lives in the apartment.]


Eric: I’m just here for my things.

<Footsteps approach the recorder, and then stop.>

Eric: What is that?

The Smoker: That’s a pipe. What did you think it would be?

Eric: No, no this isn’t fucking happening, this isn’t–fuck!

The Smoker: Why don’t you have a seat, Eric?

Eric: No, I’m not staying here. I’m not going to sit here, and listen to this, I’m…I’m just going to grab my things and leave.

The Smoker: Here, take a seat here for a couple of minutes, and just calm down.

<Sounds of a brief scuffle, someone sits down hard, most likelt Eric T. The other sits down more gently.>

The Smoker: There, isn’t that better Eric?

Eric: Wait…How…how do you know my name? I never gave you my name. I gave you a fake name, even.

The Smoker: You don’t have any secrets from me Eric, not right now. Why, I even know about that yellow jockstrap you keep in the back of your dresser. The one you only pull out when you’re really horny? The one you try to throw out once a month or so, but you never manage to make it happen?

Eric: How–I don’t….

The Smoker: How’d you get that jockstrap again? You bought it online, right? A private sale? Well use by the previous owner, his handle was PissCumPiggy I think, said he’d worn it for six months, he’d jacked off into it three times a day, pissed through it the entire time too. Quite a steal, at thirty bucks. That’s what? A dime a cum shot?

Eric: I’ve never told anyone about that, there’s no way you can possibly know about that!

<The sound of a zipper, a rustling of cloth.>

Eric: That’s…how…

The Smoker: I knew you wouldn’t bring it along, so I slipped in yesterday while you were at work and grabbed it.

Eric: But…

The Smoker: Goodness, it is rank. And damp too…have you been adding to it? Oh why am I asking, of course you have. Like you could resist.

Eric: I’m getting out of here, I’m done with this. This is crazy.

<Eric stands up and walks to the door.>

The Smoker: You’ve left your things behind again.

Eric: I don’t fucking care! I’m done with these fucking games, I’m fucking done!

The Smoker: This will all go much smoother if you just admit to yourself why you’re here, Eric. You aren’t here for a story. You aren’t here out of some journalistic curiosity. You aren’t here because you’re interested in the truth. You’re here because you want what I can offer you. You’re here because I have this pipe here on the table, and I know you want it to be yours. It can make you the man you’ve always wanted to be, right here and right now.

Eric: This is a fucking joke, it’s just a fucking prank, isn’t it?


Eric: It’s…it’s not a joke, is it. It’s…all of it…

The Smoker: I told you I would offer you a demonstration, Eric.

Eric: Yeah, on the fucker who lives here!

<The smoker chuckles. The rustling of papers.>

The Smoker: Here’s the copy of lease, if you’d like to see it. Or, what the lease could look like. It just needs a signature.

Eric: But…but my names on all of these!

The Smoker: I hope you don’t mind the decoration–I was just trying to think of what kind of place a nasty, raunchy pig like you’re going to be soon would want to live. Run down, greasy, dirty laundry all over the place, ashtrays brimming. I even put a pipe rack in the bedroom for you, since you’re going to have your own pipe collection soon enough. A sling too, so all the guys you bring home can have easy access to that slutty ass of yours.

Eric: Please–please this is just a mistake. I’m sorry, I–we can just destroy the tape, alright? No one has to know.

The Smoker: Goodness, look how hard you are. Are you leaking even? You are…look at that stain growing there. I guess I got a few things right at least.

Eric: Please, I don’t want this, I don’t.

The Smoker: You do want this, don’t lie to me, Don’t think I can’t tell you’re lying.

Eric: I don’t want to want this.

The Smoker: Now that! That’s the truth. You don’t want to want this. But you do want it, don’t you? You’ve always resented your intellect. Your perfect track into the bland middle class, its suburban boredom. You’ve tried to sabotage yourself, I know. Coming out at work to your homophobic boss, but that didn’t get you fired like you’d hoped–you were just banished to the style section, and now here you are, chasing me. And now that we’ve found each other, maybe you should sit down here and take a look at this pipe here, that I picked out just for you.

Eric: Don’t make me do this.

The Smoker: I’ve been very precise. I can’t make you do anything without your consent, Eric. Now why don’t you at least come over here and pick it up. That can’t do you any harm.

<Footsteps approach the recorder, the clack as the pipe is picked up off the table.>

Eric: It…it feels really…It feels so right…

The Smoker: I do know how to pick them. Would you like me to fill it for you? It doesn’t have the right heft unless it has a packed bowl.

<Rustling for a few moments.>

The Smoker: There, now hold it. Feels good, doesn’t it? Put it in your mouth–yeah, fuck that looks hot on that face. Would look even better with a big, bushy, grey beard.

Eric: I’ve always…I’ve always wanted one, but it never came in right.

The Smoker: Well, you could have a huge one. Thick, all the way down to your chest. Wiry and grey, crusty with cum and spit, your mustache yellow from the decades you’ve spent with briar between your lips.

Eric: Don’t…stay away….

The Smoker: Yeah, imagine how dirty you could be. No more desk jobs, just a union laborer, thirty dollars an hour, plenty of money to waste.

Eric: Fuck…

The Smoker: You could retire in two or three years. Big fat pension Spend the rest of your life hooking up, drinking piss by the gallon, stuffing your fat gut full of food and cum and whisky, smoking like a chimney until the day you die.

Eric: Please…


The Smoker: “Please” what? Please, yes? Please no? I know what you want. I know what you want to want, even. So say it. Fucking say it already.

Eric: Yes. Please. Please, fucking light it up, before I think about it, please.

<The sound of a struck match. Some groans.>

Eric: Fuck, that…that shit’s fuckin’ dank…man…

The Smoker: That’s the way you like it though, raw and nasty.

Eric: Fuck yeah, feel…fuckin’ strange though.

The Smoker: Shut up pig, feed me some of that smoke.

<Nothing is said for a few minutes, there’s some groaning and muttering on the tape.>

The Smoker: Fucking look at you already. Look at that fuckin’ beard! And I love a big belly on a man. Let’s get this shit off of you. You don’t wear office shit.

Eric: Fuck….fuck no…why the fuck ‘m I wearin’ this shit anyway?

The Smoker: Don’t fucking worry about it. I got your favorite jock though.

Eric: Fuck yeah, I love this thing!

<A deep snort, some panting.>

Eric: Had it for years now, fuckin’ nasty as fuck.

The Smoker: Put it on, pig.

<Nothing spoken for a moment, a few grunts.>

The Smoker: Looks like it’s meant to be on you.

Eric: Course it is. Get o’er here, I’m not done with that hot mouth a yers.

<Nothing spoken. Grunts and moans for several minutes. A slam, likely someone shoved against a wall. A few mutters determined to be indecipherable.>

Unknown Speaker: Go on, you nasty son of a bitch. Piss yourself, fuck yeah.

Unknown: Fuck, oh fuck yeah, so fuckin’ nasty…

<Nothing spoken for a several minutes. Grunts and groans. Heavy footsteps, a loud thump.>

Eric: Fuckin’ put it in me! Shove that cock up my filthy shit chute, I’m fuckin’ horny as fuck.

The Smoker: Yeah, look at you, you old fucking pig. Look at that sloppy fuckin’ hole. So fuckin’ loose, I can slip my fingers up in there, no fuckin’ problem.

Eric: Come on, gimme yer cock man, ram it up my piggy hole, make it hurt, motherfucker!

<Grunts, a loud groan.>

Eric: Oh fuck yeah, fuck me rough, fuck me hard…

The Smoker: Fuckin’ sloppy in here. I’m not the first guy who’s fucked you today, am I?

Eric: Fuck no, some guy cruised me at the construction site, he plowed me in an alley behind a dumpster on my lunch.

The Smoker: You’re such a fuckin’ whore.

Eric: Fuck yeah! Been a whore ever since I was suckin’ cock in the department store bathrooms when I was a teenager! Fuckin’ love cum, nothin’ better.

The Smoker: Fuck…fuck, getting close…

<A loud smack, a snort in response.>

The Smoker: Who’s my new pig whore?

Eric: I am!

The Smoker: Who’s my pisss swillin’, pipe smokin’ bitch pig!

Eric: Me, fuckin’ fill me up, come on!

The Smoker: F–Fuck!, Fuck, you feel that? Breeding you piggy.

Eric: Give it to me fucker, pump me full of yer fuckin’ seed…

<Nothing spoken for several moments. Audible panting. A grunt.>

Eric: Fuckin’ let me clean it, I love a scummy cock, fuck…

The Smoker: Well you sure scummed this one–fuck, you don’t kid around do you, pig? Yeah, look at you take that down your throat, no trouble at all.

<Nothing spoken for a few moments. Grunting.>

Eric: Tasty as fuck…

<The recorder is picked up, and the tape stopped. It resumes an unknown time later, recorded at an unknown location.>

The Smoker: So, what do you think? Eric’s happy now, just a sexy fuckin’ pipe smoking pervert. How about you? Do you want me to help you be happy? Then come find me, I’m ready for you. Just keep an eye out for The Smoker.


Underwear Trade Network Pt. 2

And work it did. The next package was a rubber jockstrap, and Henry found himself in his dream body–heavily muscled, sexually confident and domineering, alpha male–everything he’d always wanted. He was rich too–the beneficiary of an old family trust which meant he could spend his days fucking and sniffing and drinking and partying and living the liufe he’d always wanted. Sure, there were some drawbacks–he wasn’t really a fan of the cigars he smoked, and his cock was on the small side. Still, it way better than any life he could have wanted. Best of all, at the end of the month–no itching–and no new package. They were his to keep, and keep them he did for the next five months, living the life he’d always wanted…until the itching came, and the next day, a new package. He did everything he could to resist for as long as he could, amanging nearly a week before he finally had to rip them off, and open the box to see what he’d been sent instead.

It was another jockstrap, but one of the filthiest he’d ever seen, and it stank to high heaven. It was so bad that he nearly gagged, but his hands wouldn’t let go, and he found himself cringing as he slid the jock up his legs, the wet mesh settling against his cock, and then he was changing again. Younger now, until he couldn’t have been older than twenty or twenty-one, and his head–it felt like all of his brains were just being turned to mush. He could barely piece together a sentence, but all he knew was that he smelled fucking amazing. He took a deep drag off the huge cigar in his mouth and sniffed his reeking pits, the room twisting around him, his apartment growing dingy, the floor heaped with trash, and on the couch–someone he both didn’t know–and knew intimately.

He was huge, nearly five hundred pounds. The man reeked, and Henry couldn’t get over there fast enough to cram my face between his sweaty thighs and start licking him clean. Memories started cramming their way into his dim mind, how his fat master had enslaved him with his foul stench, and Henry remained his personal slave for months on end, neither of them leaving the apartment, and in his mind, Henry screamed, trying to get out, trying to resist, and he was so thankful when the jockstrap started to burn, and he received the next package, and he put on the equally filthy jockstrap that was in there as well. Certainly nothing could be as bad as this, right?

He was wrong. He grew up into his thirties, a filthy workie wearing a high viz vest, his apartment even filthier, and he put on a gas mask and shoved the tube into his ass, breathing in his own fumes, nearly suffocating as he jacked himself off, over and over again. He discovered the next day, at the construction site, that his primary duty was as the men’s cumdump and personal toilet slave, and he realized that the UTN would probably never forgive him for trying to game the system, and he’d be stuck in raunchy, filthy hell after raunchy, filthy hell until he died.


The FAT Retreat (Part 6)

Warning: Still extreme stuff.

– Day 6 –

The flourescents flickered on in their room, and Max shielded his eyes from them, not quite able to handle their glare this morning. He rolled over, the mattress beneath him wet and cold, his cock hard and leaking as always, and looked over across the room where his son was awake already. Leon, the pig, face buried in the toilet bowl, swallowing down the muck, and aware that the lights had come on, he hauled his face up, covered in shit that dribbled down onto the rim and the floor, and he just stared at his father and master, like a dog caught with a bag of treats in it’s mouth.

To punish or not to punish? Max erred on the latter–Leon had been well behaved all week (hadn’t he? he couldn’t seem to remember much of it actually) and so he got up from the bed, stroking his cock, getting himself to the edge as he crossed the room, so that as he slid his huge cock into his son’s amazing hole he came almost immediately, and then he started fucking properly, bending over the pig’s massive, 600 pound frame to shove it’s face into the toilet bowl, giving it unspoken permission to finish its first breakfast.

Leon had drained the toilet and was licking the bowl, rim and floor clean around the toilet when the door finally slid open, and the intercom announced that it was time to eat. Max finished off his sixth orgasm, feeling slightly less horny and able to function for the moment, and yanked on Leon’s collar, telling his son to follow him out of the room.

Neither of them had clothing on. Max enjoyed parading his huge body down the hall, staring down all the men he passed. He stood at least head taller than most of them, and between his musk and his glare, everyone hurried to get out of the brute’s way, the man’s pig following behind him, shit covered face to the floor, lapping up the dribbles of cum that seeped out of it’s father’s cock as he walked, still hungry, always hungry, never big enough, always disgusting, but never enough, never good enough (for his father? For his dead father? A dream, more than a dream?) for anything more than this.

Breakfast proceeded as usual. Max ate first, and Leon cleaned up after him, eating the scraps, drinking the piss that suddenly streamed from his master’s cock as he devoured a massive chocolate cake, taking the moments in between to clean bits of Max’s body–his feet, his asscrack, his shitty cockhead. When Max was full, he turned his attention to his massive pig, positioning him next to a table and stuffing him as quickly as he could. Leon had long since become used to eating like this (Like this, he’d never eaten like this) and so he focused on swallowing it all down, knowing that the merest slip up would leave him choking on the floor, and that his father would probably just abandon him to die, not even good enough to be fed like a proper pig, and that would it, that would be everything. So he swallowed and swallowed and swallowed, afraid of his father, afraid of wasting away even now, afraid of everything–a true coward of feeble mind and weaker soul.

The rest of the morning was a blur to Leon–his master paid him little attention in their only morning session–an exit interview with a doctor in a since study, a study Leon didn’t want to enter, because he could tell he didn’t belong there, that he would just ruin it all with his filth, but the doctor brought him in anyway, and he crawled gingerly accross the carpet, trying to leave as little of himself there as possible.

The doctor was very pleased with them, and Max was very pleased with the retreat–it was exactly what he and his pig slave had needed, and he felt so well rested and relaxed now, it was wonderful. The doctor was very pleased, and got up to open a window, the musk of them both combined with Max’s cigar smoke too much for him. The doctor finished by talking about them and their future plans. Of course, they would continue trucking around the culture and uploading their “cabcast” to FAT’s collection of websites. After all, men all over the world loved the saga of the huge beast of a trucker and his filthy pig son. FAT had also assembled an itinerary for the both of them over the next six months, a collection of orgies and porn shoots for Maxc, Leon, or both of them to participate in, for which FAT would pay them of course–they needed to keep up with their rising food costs somehow, right? But what about after those six months? Had they thought that far ahead yet?

“Honestly,” Max said, “I haven’t really planned very far ahead at all. I woke up feeling kind of…odd actually, like–”

“Yes, I know how things can feel, but that’s not really important. I’m sure uyou’ll feel right as rain before too long, but we really do need to discuss a few things, especially about your pig. He’s over 600 pounds now, and is gaining faster than we expected. We ought to begin planning for his eventual immobility.”

“You mean, when he can’t move at all? Hell, he’d be fucking worthless if you ask me.”

“Well, when that day comes–soon I’m sure–we’d be happy to take him off your hands. We have programs for the immobile. I can assure you your son–”

“He’s not my son.”

“Yes, well, your slave would be well cared for and have a very enjoyable life, given his interests.”

“I don’t care what you’d want to do with him to be honest.”

“Well, we have some openings remaining in our winter retreat six months from now–why don’t both of you attend, and we can see what we’d like to do about you both then. You, Max, I think will be very popular with all sorts of men–I can’t wait to see what you might do when your pig isn’t of use to you anymore.”

“Heh, well, I’d miss him a little probably, but like I said–a worthless pig is a pig I don’t want. So, are we free to go now?”

“You certainly are,” the doctor said, and indicated two bins against the wall, “The clothes you arrived in are in those bins, and your truck is outside where you parked it. I’m excited to see you in six months, it’s going to be a very exciting time, I think.”

Max rolled his eyes at the doctor, obviously impatient, and the doctor glared at him. “Subject 367, sleep now.”

Max, who had been in the midst of standing up from the chair he was in, plopped back down, his bearded shin smacking against his chest. Leon looked up at his master and over at the doctor, not sure what to do, and decided to just do nothing, and think about other things. He hadn’t really been paying much attention to the conversation, and so he never did remember what the doctor told his master, that over the next six months, Max would find himself falling deeply in love with his pig. Not just emotionally, but physically. He would find himself desiring the pig’s cum, his piss, and his shit as deeply as Leon desires his. He would hate these new feelings but find them irresitible, and the thought of being separated from his son forever would seem like the worst torture in the world.

He woke Max up after a few minutes, and sent them both on their way, reclothed in their old (new?) clothes that neither of them could quite remember wearing ever before in their lives. Max squeezed his huge body into a pair of ragged jeans, the seat brown and crusted with shit, and threw on an old denim jacket which had been crudly cut up into a vest, and lastly pulled on a pair of mud and shit crusted boots. Leon was put into the pair of overalls he’d worn for almost two years straight now, and it was nearly time to give his pig a new pair to ruin, Max figured. The knees were ripped open, Leon could barely fit his massive rolls of fat into them, and one of the straps had broken off entirely during an orgy they’d been at a year ago. Still, they smelled so good, like his pig, his son, he loved that smell so much–

Max shook his head, not at all sure where those thoughts had come from, and utterly disturbed by them. He hated that pig, he hated him more than anyone he’d ever met. There was no love for him, none at all, and the thought scared him that he, a huge alpha male, could ever love something as weak and disgusting as that.

He fucked Leon roughly in the office, right then and there, just to reassure himself of his hatred, the doctor just watching it happen, head cocked to one side, thinking. Max, his confidence restored for the moment, dragged Leon away by his lead and stormed out of the building and into the parking lot.

Leon blinked a couple of times, the glare of the sun not so different from the halogens he’d been living under for the last several days, but it seemed to stir in him something he could not recall precisely. A feeling of…excitement? The FAT headquarters loomed behind him, Max in front of him, the bookends of his life. Max was scanning the parking lot, almost like he wasn’t entirely sure what to do now that the retreat was behind him, before finally finding the thoughts to spring into action, he lumbered off towards the side of the parking lot where his rig was parked, Leon following behind on his hands and knees.

The cab smelled strangely clean. It seemed to him that the cab had always had a strong scent of his father’s messes, considering he usually drove for hours, shitting and pissing his seat, Leon’s face buried in his crotch most of the way, draining his dad’s balls for him, but it had to be their truck, right? It was probably just his memory being wrong. Besides, it would smell like home soon enough, he was certain. Max hefted himself up with considerable more ease and gave his son a rare smile. The retreat had been good for him, Leon thought, good for them both. A chance to relax and unwind for a little bit, and eat, of course.

Max turned the key and checked his itinerary–they were due for a shit orgy in Baton Rouge in two days, and then a pig party in Houston after that–checked the cameras in the cab, and pulled out. Leon smelled the piss before Max did, and leaned over, sucking it from the denim as it leaked out, and they pulled out of the parking lot, their new lives behind them, eyes on the future, and already looking forward to their next FAT retreat in a few months.


The Underwear Trade Network Pt. 1

Henry had always had a bit of an underwear fetish–he remembered stealing jocks from some of the hot guys in high school, just to smell them. Something about getting that close to another guy, it was intoxicating. Still, he hadn’t been able to do much beyond swapping dirty jocks with other guys online, but the more he did it, the more he realized that it wasn’t enough. He had these vivid fantasies of not just stealing guy’s underwear, but their bodies too–their lives. He started looking for other men who felt the same, and it was in this way that he received his invitation into the UTN–the Underwear Trading Network. He’d jumped at the opportunity without really reading all of the details, assuming he’d just signed up for a group that pooled underwear and sent it to members. He sent off a pair of his own cumstiff boxers as part of the “initiation fee,” and the next week a package of his own had arrived–and when he put on the ripe jock inside, something amazing had happened–his entire body started changing.

Henry was relatively young and had stayed in shape, even after college, but the body he had a few minutes later was still very different from his own. Much shorter, for one thing–he dropped from around six foot two to about five and a half feet, but much more cut–without the fatty layer he’d had covering up his muscle. That, and he looked to be in his mid fifties, his body hairy, face and head shaved, but with a layer of heavy stubble, and even a few tattoos–and the desires. Fuck! Suddenly, thinking about men pissing made him more aroused than he’d ever been in the past. That first night he pissed all over himself and his jock in the tub, but after the first week, his own piss wasn’t enough, and he’d spend the whole night out at bars, begging men to soak him down, and come how stinking of piss, unwilling to shower it off.

The world shifted around him as well. He’d wake up early every morning and get dressed in workwear he hadn’t owned before, and headed off to the worksite, shooting the shit woith his new/old buddies there, drinking their piss in dusty corners of unfinished, suburban houses. This conitinued for a month, and then the jock strap he hadn’t removed in all that time started to itch, and a day later, another package arrived from the UTN. Inside that box he discovered a pair of yellow cumstained, 3XL briefs, and as much as he didn’t want to put them on, he couldn’t stop himself from removing his piss soaked jock and pulling them on. He watched his body bloat, and soon he was someone else entirely–someone he had absolutely no interest in being.

He was huge, probably close to 400 pounds of flab, and somehow a bit shorter than he’d been before, making him look even larger. He was balding, and his fat stank, but as soon as he’d sent to jock back in the return package, he realized something else–he was hungry. For the next month, all it seemed that he did was eat, and eat, and eat, and only when he was as full as he could get could he manage to shoot a wad from the three inch cock he could barely reach around his massive gut. He had no friends either, and worked from home as a computer programmer, eating day and night, miserable beyond belief–but then it hit him. He was smart in this body, smart with computers, and so he hacked his way into the UTN’s server and started fiddling with their delivery system. He had a plan–now all he could do was hope that it works.

The FAT Retreat (Part 5)

***If you want to pussy out, now’s probably the time. Extreme scat, pain play, and humiliation ahead.***

– Day 5 –

Max had had a terrible night.

Of course, he’d had a terrible time ever since parting with Leon in the hallway, mostly because it had been that long since he’d had the chance to feel his amazing ass wrapped around his huge cock, and masturbation just wasn’t cutting it anymore. He’d slept fitfully, dozing for a few hours before waking up, angry and unsatisfied, jerking his cock raw, coating himself in load after load of cum while smelling the funk of the toilet that at this point was nearly brimming with his piss and shit, and all he could really feel now, as the lights in the room finally clicked on, was anger. He was angrier than he’d ever been in his entire life, and try as he might, he couldn’t find a way to bottle it up. Then again, he supposed that was the point of the last session he’d gone to.

After splitting up with Leon, he’d made his way to his own afternoon session, where a doctor and several assistants had told him he would be getting a few shots, and they would be monitoring his reactions to the drugs. They’d restrained him and then given him a large shot in his ass–nothing happened for a few minutes, and then he started to sweat, and he wondered if they were going to be wreaking his hygiene even more. In fact, the drug was what the doctor called a hyper-steroid–designed to do in a single dose what years of steroid abuse would do to a person’s body, without the need for constant application. Anxious, Max had asked the doctor whether that meant he would lose his fat and be muscular, and the doctor assured him that he would keep all of his fat–just bulk up underneath it.

The doctor hadn’t been kidding, and the entire session had been horrendously painful, as muscle tissue broke down and reknit over and over again, bulking up all over his body, filling him out, forcing the lab assistants to loosen his restraints every half hour as they became too tight for his growing form. True to the man’s word, Max lost none of his four hundred pounds of fat–he simply gained close to an extra hundred and fifty of muscle. By the time the drug’s effects began to subside, Max’s soft moobs had become huge, meaty pecs jutting out over his gut which, while still very flabby, was supported by a massively strong core. His shoulders and neck had grown thick, and nearly grown together, and his arms had bulked up to the size of a normal man’s leg, soft, but still capable of bending the iron bar the doctor gave to him to test his physical strength.

The men helped him stand up on legs as thick as trees, his thighs so wide he had to readjust how he walked, with a wide, heavy gait that could make the room shake slightly if he was heavy footed, his massive cock swinging from side to side, though it looked a bit more normal on him now, and the rush of hormones! He felt so damn powerful and aggressive, all he wanted to do was find someone to fuck, but the only person he wanted was Leon. At dinner, unable to find his roommate at the tables, he’d tried grabbing another cub, slamming him up against the wall and raping his ass, listening to him cry for help as Max rammed his cock in, but it wasn’t the same. Nothing felt like Leon’s ass, and that’s what he wanted–what he needed, and without it, he was growing angrier by the minute.

As he came again, he noticed something about the bed he was still lying on–it was wet. Well, not just wet, but kind of slimy, and…

Max sat up and looked at the bed, and saw that it was soaked with yellow. He’d pissed the bed in the night, and he hadn’t even noticed, and now that he was paying attention, he lifted his ass up and saw that he’d shit the bed as well, and apparently rolled in it all night long, judging by the way in was coating his thighs…He rubbed his hand in the muck and slathered it over his cock, helplessly jacking off again, unable to believe he’d made such a mess and loving it at the same time. That must have been what those other shots they’d given him had been for. he could vaguely remember the doctor shooting something into the ring of his ass, as well as into his taint. Had they made him incontinent? The thrill of it made him momentarily ashamed, but it was so hot that he couldn’t stop himself. But still, eventually he had to stop when the door to his room finally slid open, and the voice announced that it was time for breakfast.

He got up and pulled on the same set of clothes he’d been wearing the whole retreat, stinking of his sweat, piss and filth–although he could barely fit into them now at his new size. After his growth from the testosterone transference and the steroids, the pants were stretched tight across his thighs and could only reach the tops of his calves, and he ripped the shirt down the front, freeing his belly, the fabric stretched across his back and arms like a vest, and he ripped the sleeves off to complete the look, before leaving in search of breakfast. he was halfway to the mess when he felt something warm in the front of his pants–he was pissing, and he stopped, a bit embarrassed, feeling it puddle around his bare feet, but it felt so good he massaged his cock a couple of times to get off a shuddered load, and continued onward.

It was hard to believe, but somehow he was even hungrier than before. Then again, he was feeding a body several hundred pounds heavier than usual. Luckily, he was able to commandeer entire tables with his size, and anyone who challenged him usually ended up with at least a black eye, if not something worse. It wasn’t that Max really intended to hurt them; but whenever one of them came near his territory, this unthinking rage seemed to take over his entire body, and before he could stop himself he’d tackled someone to the ground and was pounding their face in with his fists until the hunger dragged him off and back to the table. In the midst of his feast, he felt a fart rip it’s way out of his ass along with a load of shit, and his pants were so tight it just backed up in his crack, but he didn’t notice until he was already out of the mess hall and on his way to his assigned lab, and he wasn’t entirely sure how he was going to make it through the day like this.

However, his concern was wiped away when he walked into the lab and saw the massive, tattooed man waiting for him, and his jaw dropped. What in the world had they done to Leon? It was no wonder he hadn’t gotten back to the room yesterday–he must have been in a lab all night if they tattooed him from head to toe–and it really was head to toe. However, that was all the attention he could give to the tattoos before Leon, who smelled Max’s filth as soon as he’d entered, started waddling over, eyes hungry, tongue out and panting, and Max slammed into him, throwing his roommate to the ground, rolling him over with one big foot and ramming his cock into Leon’s tight ass in one single thrust that made Leon scream out in a muddle of pain and pleasure.

It was as amazing as he remembered, and he could already tell that no other ass could make him feel like this. After two thrusts he’d already cum once, but Max was far from done, and as he fucked, it was like a flood of cum worked it’s way into Leon’s hole until it had been filled to capacity, and it just started spilling out every time max pulled his cock back. Leon just kept shouting and grunting, yelling at Max to fuck him harder, to make it hurt, but Max wasn’t listening–the entire world had disappeared as soon as he entered Leon’s ass, and all the anger that had built up overnight finally had a channel, and be beat that ass with his cock for what felt like hours, but it was only twenty minutes later that he finally regained some semblance of self-control and managed to withdraw.

“Thank you, that was a very nice control sample of your sexual dynamics,” someone was saying, and Max focused up, seeing a fat doctor making some marks on a clipboard. “I think you both are ready for induction. Both of you look here please,” the doctor said, holding up a strange, flashing light, and as soon as Max looked at it, he couldn’t look away, and then the whole world melted apart for a moment until he came back to himself, shaking his head and looking around the room, wondering what had just happened.

“Oh fuck, oh fuck, you’re so fuckin’ hot,” he heard someone say.

Max looked down and he saw Leon crawling towards him, but when he saw his roommate, he suddenly saw him in a completely different light. He wasn’t a hot fuck and a nice guy–he was a fucking disgusting piece of filth. In fact, just staring at him was making Max’s stomach turn, and when Leon tried to lick Max’s foot clean, he took a step back, sneered, and said, “What the fuck are you doing, you disgusting pig? What in the hell makes you think I want something like you touching me?”

Leon looked up at him, obviously wounded by the comment, but something had changed in him as well. Where the old Leon would have slung back with a barbed insult, or maybe even a fist, this new Leon, he knew that Max was right. He was disgusting. He was a pig. No one would want to have sex with him, why would they, really? But he wanted them, he wanted to make them happy, he wanted to service them. “Please, sir? Please? I just…I just want to clean your feet, I know I’m just a worthless pig sir, but I’m so hungry, and I promise I’ll be good, I’ll do everything you say, I swear.”

“Fuck off.”

“Please!” Leon said, begging now, his head against the ground, inches from Max’s feet, just staring at his filthy toes, “Please, I just…I just want to be a good pig sir, I just want to try and make you happy.”

“I’d be happiest if you were out of my sight.”

“Please don’t…don’t say that sir, please….please just let me try.”

Max looked down at the pig, a bit curious now. “Open your mouth.”

Leon did, and Max took his cigar and dumped a chunk of hot ash into the pig’s open mouth. The heat was nearly unbearable, but he knew what was expected of him. He soaked the ember in his spit and choked it down, before adding, “Thank you, sir.”

Max cocked an eyebrow, surprised at the pig’s eagerness. “Fine, you want to try to please me? A disgusting piece of trash isn’t worthy of my feet though. If you want to serve me, you’re gonna have to prove that you’re a real pig, that you’ll do anything for me,” Max said, and turned around, revealing his pants which were still bulging with the load of shit he let out into them earlier, “You’re gonna have to be my toilet pig. You want it? You want to eat my load of shit?”

Leon balked, and sat back on his knees, “I–I…I mean…”

“This is your only chance pig, either get your face in here, or get the fuck out.”

Leon stared at the brown seat of Max’s pants and at the door, and as much as he hated to admit it, the decision was easy–he just didn’t want it to be easy. he crawled up and started licking at the back of Leon’s pants, tasting the shit seeping through, and Max reached around with both hands, grabbed the pants and ripped them apart, the shit spilling out onto Leon’s face, and like a good pig he ate as much as he could, rubbing his face in the mess, eating it all up, Max urging him on. When he’d eaten everything out of the crack and started licking it clean, Max turned around and started picking up shit where it had fallen on the floor and crammed it into Leon’s mouth, packing it full before ramming his cock down the pig’s throat, listening to him gag and sputter, trying to breathe, swallow and pleasure Max’s huge cock all at the same time, and the huge brute came over and over, washing the shit down with torrents of his cum, skullfucking Leon without caring, and Leon didn’t want him to care. He wanted the abuse, he wanted to be hated, he wanted to be humiliated more than anything by this beastly god.

“Good, very good,” the doctor said, “Now if you could both look here again?”

It was the light again, and with his cock still down Leon’s throat, Max felt himself sucked back into the light, his world twisted upside down, and then he was spat back out, and he was looking down at the pig, and a flash of anger ripped through him, and he reached down, grabbed hold of the two huge rings the pig had through his fat man tits and gave them a wrenching twist, watching the pig howl in pain around his cock. “Yeah, that’s good, fucking scream, bitch!” Max twisted harder, watching Leon moan and twist, and he realized the pig was pulling away from Max’s hands, making it hurt more. The pig liked it–the pig was a glutton for punishment. Max let go if the pig’s rings took the cigar out of his mouth, grinding the hot butt against Leon’s forehead, watching the spot blister as Leon screamed, and then threw him to the ground and kicked Leon until he rolled over onto his huge stomach.

It was still slick with his cum from earlier, and that was all the lube he needed to slide his fist all the way inside of Leon’s hole, the pig sighing, and then Max was punching the pig’s insides, hammering at his prostate with as much power as he could muster, watching the pig shiver and quake, and then he started working in his other hand, stretching Leon’s hole to the ripping point, listening to him beg and shout for more–more pain, more fucking, and between both of his hands, Max slid in his still hard cock as well. “Your hole is so fucking loose I might as well climb inside your cunt,” Max said, jacking his cock with both hands inside of Leon’s ass, “Fucking worthless–you think an ass this loose can fucking please me? Why in the fuck would I want such a worthless, shitty pig? Still, you want me though, don’t you? You want me to hurt you so fucking much…”

“Oh god sir, please–it hurts so bad, but I deserve it, I need it. You can do whatever you want to me, I don’t care, but I need you sir, I need to be with you. I know I’m–I’m not worth anything. I know there are hundreds of pigs you’d rather have, but I have to serve you sir, no one can make me hurt like you do, no one can abuse me like you will…”

“Fuck pig, you may be disgusting, but you know how to get a guy horny,” Max said, and came again in Leon’s ass, milking as much of his cum out as he could with his hands, worming his way in deeper still, and the doctor comes up with his clipboard, scribbling more notes.

“That’s better, I think one more time, please.”

He held up the light and Max felt himself blink, and one second he had his cock and both hands buried in Leon’s cunt, and the next he was standing up on the other side of the room, and something felt different. He was clothed, not in his rags, but in a set of filthy, worn leathers–chaps, motorcycle boots, leather harness strapped tight against his fat and muscle, a muir cap tipped forward on his head, and there across the room, his fucking worthless pig slave, naked, covered in shit and cum, his hands bound up in mitts, it’s disgusting face well hidden behind the hood moulded to look like a pig’s head, and hood sealed to it’s neck by a thick steel collar.

Max reached down and felt the heavy wooden paddle hanging on the belt of his chaps, and he hefted it up, striding around behind the pig, smacking it softly against his gloved hand, letting the slave know what was coming, but the first blow connected not with the pig’s ass, but with the top of his back, behind the shoulder blades, hard enough for the pig’s arms to collapse, and then Max started slamming the paddle against his raised ass with glee, taking a break on occasion to grind the pig’s face into the tiled floor with a boot before paddling him some more, not stopping until the pig’s ass was bright red and welted, and then he threw the paddle to the side and started fucking his pig.

Yes. His pig. He owned this pigslave, it was his property. Sure, it was disgusting. Sure, he despised it, but it served him eagerly and there was something to be said for that. As he was fucking him, ramming his hips hard against the pig’s sore cheeks, he felt a warmth as well, and he realized he was actually pissing in his slave’s ass. He buried in deep, making sure the pig knew what was happening. Making sure the pig knew it was just a toilet, a urinal, an object–nothing more. Making sure it had no illusions. That Max didn’t care about it, didn’t love it, didn’t respect it. Making sure it knew that as soon as it could no longer serve, it would be abandoned at the first rest area they passed, chained to the wall for anyone to use and take if they wanted a worthless, broken down, second hand pig. And Leon did know it. He knew it all, and he accepted his role with all his heart. He wanted it. He didn’t want to be loved. He didn’t deserve love or respect. he hated himself, but he was happy serving. He was happy to be of some small use to a beautiful, brutal god like his master.

The doctor let Max fuck his pig for the remainder of the session, and when it was time for lunch he gave Max a leash for his pig, and he led Leon back to the mess hall on his hands and knees, Leon behind him the entire time, watching his master’s ass in case Max had an accident that he might need to clean up quickly. For the first half of their lunch, Max was the only one eating. Leon would follow behind him, only allowed to eat the scraps that fell to the floor as Max ate–that and Max’s shit. As his master was devouring a massive cake with his hands, Leon saw his master’s ass start to distend, and he quickly moved to catch the shit and devour it as quickly as he could like a good pig toilet. Max didn’t even notice–all he could focus on was making sure he kept up his bulk.

When Max was satisfied, he parked Leon next to a table and started stuffing food down his throat as fast as he could, Leon eating more than he’d ever managed to before, his master taunting him the entire time, telling him how disgusting fat he was going to be, telling him that if he was going to be a pig, he was going to be the biggest, fattest pig on the face of the planet. Leon was just happy for the attention, happy for the acknowledgement from his master, happy being fed, knowing that he wouldn’t be wasting away today, that for the moment he didn’t have to be afraid of withering.

Before long, Max wasn’t shoving food in with his hands, but with his cock, and suddenly he threw Leon to the floor and was ramming his cock into his pigslave’s hole. Leon struggled to get down the pile of food still in his mouth, and with his hands reached down and yanked on the rings through his moobs, feeling his worthless cock seep cum into his fatpad. Looking around the room, he could see that the rest of the men at the retreat had formed a wide circle around them, with most of them just staring. All of them looked to have gained a substantial amount of weight since they’d arrived, but none of them looked to be as extreme as him. He was the lowest–he was always going to be the lowest, and that was where he deserved to be. In his dull mind, he tried to connect back some of what he thought he could remember, how he’d arrived just days earlier, muscular and ready to help a bunch of fat men lose weight, but how could he have gone from that to this so quickly? He could barely remember everything that had happened to him, and with his poor memory, everything he seemed like it could just have easily have been imagined from horny fantasies in his mind.

The doors had slid open, signalling the end of lunch, but as far as Max was concerned, lunch wasn’t finished until he was satisfied. A good ten minutes later, the room almost entirely empty, he finally withdrew, picked up Leon’s collar and yanked him along, the two of them directed by the orderlies to another lab. Leon was still in his strange head space of trying to figure out what was going on–in his simplified mind, it seemed to amplify everything around him in the present. Nothing was permanent to him, nothing could seem to stick in his memory, rendering it as a dream, and he prayed with each moment that he wouldn’t wake up, that he wouldn’t go back to that skinny body, near death, without his master. Nothing could be worse than that, could it?

The lab, it turned out, was the same lab, with the same doctor, they’d been with in the morning, however, the room had been sanitized and scrubbed clean, and there were two chairs surrounded by electrical equipment which they were directed into. Max settled into one on his own, but the doctor and his assistants had to help Leon into his. For some reason, standing up and sitting down felt so awkward and human to him. It wasn’t a position which came naturally to him any longer. The doctor and his assistants began wiring up them both, and the doctor explained what would be happening in the session, although Leon and Max understood almost none of what he was saying.

It was, the doctor said, to be a two stage process. First, long term memories would be scrubbed and withered with targeted EST, and then the write on would begin, scribing new long term memories in their place, enough that they both would be able to fill in the blanks on their own. Leon wanted to know more, he was secretly afraid that he would be returning to his slim body that he could remember distantly, but before he could get his concerns out, a sharp pain ripped through his head and face, sending him into a violent convulsion, and in the mental space that remained as he shook, there was…nothing. No memories of himself, he felt like a clean slate, all of his concerns, all of his memories of that horrid body he may or may not have had wiped clean, and in their absence, a relief Leon couldn’t explain overcame him. Everything was going to be ok now, he was safe. He no longer knew what he was safe from, but it was gone–gone forever.

The second wave of shocks were less painful, but only because they were so powerful that they knocked both Leon and Max out the moment the struck. Max resisted more, as hard as he could, his hardened will and aggression no longer willing to cede ground, but the force of the electricity overwhelmed him, and room faded to black, and he something began to swim to the surface of his mind, memories, but not his memories, surely. But if not his, then whose?

–He was climbing out of his beat up F-150 a few years ago, before he’d been laid off from the plant and started trucking cross country, heading up the steps of his single wide where he lived with his son, Leon. What a disappointment. Max was a man’s man. Burly, hairy, muscular, tough, and his son was nothing like him. In his heart, he’d always secretly wondered if he was even his, whenever he looked at his fat frame, his hairless body, it had always been a bit disgusting to him, actually. He climbed the steps and let himself in the trailer door, and stopped short, when he smelled sex and his brother’s brand of cigars, and there on the couch, Randy was balls deep in his son’s ass on the couch, Leon moaning and grunting like a whore.

Randy, wide eyed, had stopped fucking and looked back at Max. He’d always been littler than his big brother, and he wasn’t quite sure what to expect. The brothers had fooled around plenty since they were kids, but, well, fucking your nephew was territory he hadn’t expected to enter. Still, Leon had begged him for his cock, getting him all horny, telling him how half the football team had been using his fat ass as a cum dump for months now, how he’d always wondered what his uncle’s cock might taste like, how it might feel in his pigcunt, and how could Randy say no, really?

Max however, wasn’t surprised, but he was angry. Not at Randy–he was a horndog who’d stick his cock anywhere. Not even really at Leon, not directly. The boy was a pig–of course he was a worthless fucking bottom. But indirectly? It was somewhat his fault, his fault for siring a fucking pig–but if Leon wanted to be a pig, then Max was happy to oblige. He dropped his pants, letting his huge cock flop out, and walked around to Leon’s face.

“Not a fucking surprise. You’re a fucking slut, aren’t you? What a fucking disgrace.”

Leon tried to say something. An apology? A request for his dad to fuck his face? Before he could say anything Max had already delivered on the second, and when he and Randy were satisfied, they’d tied Leon up and Max made a few calls to all of his friends and fuck buddies in the county, announcing open season on his son’s hole–

Darkness, memories coming faster than either of them could process now, and they would occasionally catch larger snippets of them as they passed by.

–Leon had thought he’d wanted this. Thought he’d wanted to his dad’s slave, his pig, but tied to a chair, being force fed food for hours on end, he was begging for his father to stop. Max, however, would have none of it.

“You told me this is what you’d wanted, and from how hard that little clit cock of yours is, I’d suggest you open up and shut up, bitch.”

It was during one of their marathon feedings that Max had discovered something new about his son–how sensitive he was to pain. More than that, pain made him compliant. Pain seemed to make Leon…happy. Max didn’t understand it. How could such a worthless piece of trash be his? He considered selling him off, but yanking on Leon’s tits, listening to his scream for more, slapping and punching him around was so satisfying–

Even faster, and more vivid now. The electricity was just a dull hum in the room, each of them rigid. Max was still trying to fight them, but it was purely instinct. There was nothing he could do to stop these thoughts, nothing at all. But still, looking at what he’d done to his son, he was so proud of what a man he’d been. This had been the right thing to do, and he liked having a pig, but he didn’t love that slave, couldn’t love him, not really…could he?

–They were coming along great. His son would never be able to hide his pig self now, not with tatts all over his body, not with piercings slammed in everywhere Max could fit them. Even better, this was actually his pigs reward! Leon begs him to go get more tattoos and piercings, he loves how the guns and needles feel in his body, he loves the pain. This one is a reward for being a good little pig and learning how to drink down all of his daddy’s piss, and this next week, well, Max isn’t planning on using the toilet ever again. Leon doesn’t know what’s coming, but from now on, he’s going to be a full service pigtoilet, and Max has a feeling he’s going to love it–

Next to him, Leon was spasming, his puny pig cock leaking piss, the sheer eroticism of what his dad had done to him making him so happy. Still, his mind was so wrecked that as soon as a memory occured they simply faded away almost immediately, forming a long haze of abuse and pain stretching back as far as he could reach.

–”You’re going to eat it.”

“No, dad–”

“I’m not you’re fucking father, and you’re not my fucking son, you fucking know better bitch!”

Max punched Leon in his face, feeling his son’s nose fracture, blood gushing down onto his tattooed chest and belly, but even though it must hurt, all Leon can do is grunt and moan in pleasure at being abused.

“You’re going to eat it, or here’s what’s going to happen. I know a biker gang, I met them on my last trip out to Cali, and they’re always looking for pig slaves, but they ain’t as nice as I am. First, they’ll rip out your teeth, and pop out your eyes, and cup off your hands and feet, and chain you to the fuckin’ wall, and that’s where you’ll fuckin’ stay for fuckin’ ever, a real fuckin’ toilet, and if you’d rather have that, by all means keep doin’ what you’re doin’ slave, because I’m gettin’ real tired of this bullshit of yours.

Leon was crying now, and when Max squatted over his face this time, he didn’t protest.

“That’s a good pig, eat up for daddy,” Max said, yanking on Leon’s tits, listening to him gag–

They were rocketing towards the present now, and the memories were growing clearer, but still shooting by at an incredible pace. The electricity was dying down as they entered the last couple of years, and FAT came into their relationship.

–Truly the Fat Action Team is the best thing Max had ever found. He’d never known that there were so many guys in the world who would pay to watch him fuck his fat pig slave of a son on their cross country drives. Of course he’d do anything the Fat Action Team told him to do, he’d already made plenty of sacrifices to increase his ratings. He’d happily taken on the steroid treatments, but sure, he’d balked at the incontinence. Still, he loved the sensation of pissing himself night and day, of shitting the back of his pants, and the guys watching his cams loved it too. He owed the Fat Action Team everything, he’d do anything for them, because they were everything to him–

Finally, the rush was sowing down, they could start coming back to themselves, move their bodies, but the memories kept coming, pushing out all of their old lives. They didn’t exist anymore–this was their past and their reality–their lives.

–Fuck, they were giving it to him rough, but Leon was a real trooper, Max thought, holding the camera as the two huge bikers took his pig from both ends in a rest stop bathroom. Over the last year, ever since working with FAT, he’d started to appreciate his son a bit more for the pig he was. Sure, he was a disgusting piece of filth, by damn, when the pig wanted something, well, he had a way of getting it. Kind of like Max, as much as he hated admitting it. Maybe the two of them had more in common than he wanted to believe.

The biker’s finished up and Leon thanked them for letting him serve their cocks. Max turned off the camera, and walked over to Leon, getting down and rubbing his son’s smooth, tattooed head, “Ya know, you might actually manage to make me proud one day, pig,” he said, and Leon smirked. Max gave him a playful slap, and then gave his son a kiss, tasting his foul mouth, piss sweat, shit, cum, ash–

The doctor shut off the electricity, and watched the two subjects sag in their seats, pleased with the memory induction, and certain it would take hold. Now, however, the subjects would sleep until morning, he was sure. He called for several orderlies, and together they all managed to heft both huge men into wide wheelchairs and drive them off to their room. Another successful retreat, the doctor thought with a nod, excited to do it all again with a new batch of men next week.