Tag: raunch

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.

The FAT Retreat (Part 4)

– Day 4 –

They woke up in the same position, the lights coming on in their room, and Max grunted and rolled away from Leon, who fumbled with his mask for a moment, forgetting what it was and why it was there, until the memory of what had happened the day before came roaring back over him, and he was able, for the first time since arriving at the retreat, to have a moment of clarity, to think about what had happened, and he just laid there, still, the mask on, trying to sort out fantasy, reality and his past.

He’d come here as a muscular man. He could remember that, a fucking stick on the verge of death, right? But that didn’t seem like it should be right. He hadn’t wanted to be fat, but why not? He’d been afraid, terrified really, but now he couldn’t even begin to comprehend that. He ripped the mask off his face and tried to sit up, but found it more difficult than before, when he’d gotten up from floor in the therapist’s office. Looking down at himself, he saw that his gut was bigger–actually bigger than it had been the day before. In fact, it wasn’t even really a gut anymore, it was an apron, and he sat on the side of the bed, hefting it up and down, feeling his heavy moobs, amazed at what had happened over the course of a night.

Max had headed straight for the toilet and with the first load of shit he dumped into the bowl, Leon felt the desire for Max well up in him again. Hefting himself up, he waddled over and got down in front of the trucker again, breathing deep of the stench wafting up from the bowl.

“Heh, looks like someone grew last night,” Max said and got up off the toilet, “Come on, I bet ya gotta go, after all you ate at dinner last night, and I hogged the toilet.”

Leon did have to go, but he couldn’t go with Max there, could he? He’d always been a bit piss shy, but he let Max help him up, and his roommate sat him down on the unflushed toilet, the stink of Max’s shit and piss wafting up around him, and he felt his cock harden up into his gut. Max came up, working both of Leon’s moobs in his dirty hands, rubbing his hairy gut in Leon’s face, and after he’d shat, he just sat there, Max’s hands working down lower, underneath his new apron, working Leon’s cock over with his hand until he came with a shudder.

“Go on boy, piss–need to wash my hand off with something.”

It took Leon a few minutes to work up to it, but he finally let his bladder loose all over Max’s hand, feeling him smear the piss around up in his new gunt and between his thighs, shivering from the trucker’s touch, and when he’d finished, Max licked his hand clean with relish, and then whipped out his cock.

“I didn’t piss this morning either yet–hold still.”

He sprayed his piss across Leon’s big belly, watching it dribble down, some of it into the toilet, some of it onto the floor, and then finished the rest off across Leon’s face, watching him shudder with lust, nearly cumming again all on his own, and Max leaned down and kissed him, licking the piss off of him, when the door slid open, the intercom letting them know it was time for breakfast.

Max helped Leon up off the toilet, and turning around he realized it was still unflushed from the night before, and now full of their moring shit and piss as well. He went to hit the lever but Max stopped him. “Leave it,” he said.

“What? Why?”

Max came close, fiddling with Leon’s fat nipples, “Think about how nice the room’ll smell when we come back later, stinking of out piss and shit. I know you got a dirty mind boy, we’re gonna have lots of fun tonight, just you wait.”

Leon didn’t want to like the idea, but he did–he liked it a lot. And so he left the room with Max, joining the throng of men as they headed for the mess hall, admiring Max’s ability to cut through the crowd with his stink, and happy with his immunity to it. In the mess hall, they worked together, both of them crowding out tables and then stuffing food into each other’s mouths, rubbing themselves and each other down as they did, Leon finishing up on his knees, sucking on Max’s cock while the older man stuffed himself. Still, the whole time, when Leon wasn’t enraptured with Max’s stench, he couldn’t stop exploring his new body. He was bigger–he was bigger, and that made him feel so good. No, more than good, it made him feel safe. The bigger he was the less fear he needed to carry with him, and beyond that, he was hot. He caught a few other guys looking at him, probably wondering what he was doing with a slob like Max, but while Leon was a bit curious what it might be like to have sex with someone else, he didn’t think he could be away from Max’s stinking body for that long.

Too soon for anyone’s liking, breakfast ended, and they all filed over to their doors. Max and Leon found they had been assigned to the same lab, and together they made the trek through the facility, arriving at a large lab outfitted with several gurneys, and Max and Leon found they were joined by other pairs of men, some of them obviously together, but others seemed to have never met before. They were all paired off and led to pairs of gurneys with a large piece of machinery between them, large enough that Leon and Max couldn’t see each other around it, and the lab technicians began strapping them down, before they inserted the needles. When Leon saw where they were putting them, it was no wonder they strapped him down first–they were inserting the needles into his balls, through the scrotum, and even though they applied an anesthetic, it still was uncomfortable, and he struggled, trying to get free. From Max’s protests, he assumed the techs were doing the same thing to him, and they eventually strapped masks over them both, the gas sedative calming them down and rendering them compliant as the machine between them came to life and began pumping.

Even so, Leon let out a groan as the crushing pain in his balls began. It felt like the machine was sucking the life out of him, and it was like someone has his balls in a vice and was slowly squeezing them into paste. He mumbled to the technicians, begging them not to take his balls away through the mask, and they reassured him:

“Calm down, subject 436–this isn’t a castration procedure, merely testosterone transference.”

Still, that did little to make him feel better, especially when he noticed his body hair starting to fall out. The technicians would occasionally go over his body, tugging at the hairs there, and it was his pubic bush that went first, and he watched them pull out huge clumps of hair, but the rest of his body was equally bare before too long, and he could tell that his face was changing, his stubble disappearing as his facial hair stopped growing altogether, leaving him perfectly smooth. He wasn’t sure whether it was the sedative or not, but he was also feeling…calmer. And his dick felt numb, and he knew that wasn’t the anesthetic. He could feel it, sure, but when the techs lifted it and inspected it, he didn’t get so much as a shiver of sexual arousal, and it felt…smaller almost. There were other changes, things he couldn’t quite see or feel, his jawline softening, his hips and ass swelling with more fat than before, his nipples growing larger and more sensitive.

He didn’t know how long he had laid there before the techs lifted his legs and put them in stirrups, revealing his ass, which they began probing with any number of tools, eventually piercing something in his ass, and he felt something start growing a bit painfully in there. It was his prostate, he realized, they were making it bigger, but it was more than that–he could feel them working in his ass, it was so much more sensitive suddenly–and with a gasp, he felt his balls contract painfully and let out a spurt of cum as they worked in his hole, and it happened again, not soon after, before they pulled out, apparently finished with their work. About an hour later, they switched off the machine, pulled the needles out and took off the mask, and Leon laid there, waiting to feel normal, but he didn’t feel normal at all–he felt so different. Calmer, more at ease.

When they took off his restraints, the first thing he did was reach down to feel his cock, and much to his horror, he realized that it had indeed shrunk–substantially in fact. He couldn’t see it, but it couldn’t have been more than two inches long, and it was flaccid the entire time he fiddled with it–he couldn’t get a response from it at all. His balls were just as unlucky, now about a quarter the size of what they had been, smaller than grapes, and then, a bit tentatively, he rolled on his side, and tested his hole, and gasped.

He’d just touched the ring, and the amount of pleasure he’d felt was astounding. He didn’t know what they’d done to him, but it was hundreds of times more powerful than his cock had been, and he slipped a finger in with a moan, revelling in the increased sensitivity, as he heard Max start cussing, demanding that the techs release him and let him up. Leon knew he should get up too, he could see other men in the lab getting up and heading off to lunch, but he couldn’t stop touching his ass. As the men filed past, he saw that all of them were either smoother or hairier than they had been when they’d walked in, but only one looked to have lost more testosterone than him, his cock not little more than a clit, and Leon couldn’t even see his balls at all.

Max finally was released, and he got up off the gurney and walked around to where Leon was, and when he saw his roommate, his jaw dropped. Max had already been fairly hairy, but after getting almost all of Leon’s testosterone production, he was one of the furriest men he’d ever seen, and he fucking reeked. The increased development hadn’t done Max’s musk any favors, and if anything it made Leon want him more, made him want Max to dominate him, to rule over him, to be his alpha, his master…

He came suddenly, although most of the sensation of his orgasm was in his ass now, his flaccid cock dribbling a bit of cum out, but he didn’t care about his cock really. He needed something up his hole, and looking at Max, he knew just what he needed. Max’s cock had grown substantially, close to ten inches, and his huge balls hung heavy below, almost churning visibly, cum leaking out of the head like a faucet. Leon noticed something new there as well–a thick, overhanging foreskin that hadn’t been there before, and he licked his lips, wondering what might build up in there by the end of the day, but he couldn’t wait that long, he needed something now. “F–Fuck me, please…” Leon moaned, his voice higher than before, “Shove that huge cock in my hole Max, come on, I need it…”

Max didn’t need to be asked twice–it was clear that he was horny as hell, and would be horny nearly every moment for the rest of his life, and he walked around and rammed his cock deep into Leon’s ass, and there was no resistance like he’d expected–it just slid in like it belonged there, and when the thick shaft started running up against Leon’s newly enlarged prostate, it ached with pleasure, making him clutch the side of the gurney in need, Max fucking him like an animal.

While Max fucked Leon, he was busy exploring his own body, feeling his massive amount of hair, his thick, wiry beard which had grown out the whole time during the procedure, his smooth dome where the hair on his head had fallen out, his thicker muscles, his cock, his balls–his huge fucking balls. He’d never felt this horny in his life, and he came quickly, flooding Leon’s ass with his cum, and then just kept fucking, cumming a second time moments later, and then a third time, each load nearly as big as the last, and the technicians just sat off to the side, watching, fooling with each other’s cocks and fat while enjoying the show.

Lunch was already half over by the time Max forced himself to stop fucking Leon’s hungry hole, and they both hurried down the hallways to the mess hall, devouring as much as they could in the time they had left, but both of them were distracted. Max had to stop every few minutes to jack off his huge cock, and Leon spent most of the meal with as many fingers as could reach buried up his ass. As much as the two of them wanted to keep fucking, it was a bit of a relief when they discovered that they were going to separated for the afternoon sessions, Max going to something vague called a Body Modification Session, and Leon was going to something called a “Personal Style and C.D./M.M. Session.” Still, they had one more rough fuck in the hallway, several fat men gathering around to watch, masturbating while keeping a healthy distance due to the stench rolling off of Max, before they split apart and headed their separate ways.

Leon walked down to the lab he’d been assigned, and found that he was in a smaller lab than he’d been in previously, and there was no one else in the room aside from a doctor and several scantily clad lab assistant cubs. “Ah, subject 436–welcome to your personal style / C.D. session. Now, if you could just lay down here, we’ll begin.”

This time, instead of a gurney, it was a chair that looked like it could be adjusted to a wide variety of positions. Still, he took his seat and waited for the assistants to strap down his arms and legs, and then, when his body was fully secure, they began attaching something to his head, a large constraint which he soon found made it impossible for him move his head or neck in any direction at all, though he could still speak. “So…uh…I get the personal style part, but what does C.D and M.M stand for?”

“Cognitive Disability and Mental Manipulation,” the doctor said, “In other words, making you stupid and messing with your head.”

Leon waited for a couple of beats, expecting the doctor and the assistants to start laughing at the obvious joke, but they weren’t laughing. And he had a feeling that they might not actually be joking. “Wait…you mean, you’re actually gonna make me…what, dumb? How in the hell are you going to do that?”

“Brain surgery. We usually like to reserve a large block of time for the C.D/M.M. process, but considering the fact you spent two days growing, we’ve had to combine a few steps in your program. Don’t worry, the neurosurgeon ought to be in soon, but we’ll get started with your styling in the meantime, with your tattoo work and hair removal.”

Leon tried to break out of the chair, but by then all of the restraints had been well secured, and he couldn’t move an inch in the chair. He couldn’t turn his head to see the doctor’s expression–and he had a sinking feeling in his gut that this wasn’t a joke at all. The cubs started working around the room, gathering around what looked like a large, colorful blueprint up on the wall, and then they each picked up a tattoo gun and began work on Leon’s body, two on his arms and a third and fourth on his legs. As they worked, the doctor shaved off all of the hair on Leon’s head, and then took a small laser and swept it slowly over Leon’s scalp, burning the follicles out and leaving his head perfectly smooth. The combined pain of it all was terrible, and Leon spent the entire time screaming at them to stop, begging them to at least do only one thing at a time, when the door to the lab slid open, and another doctor came in. “So, has the patient been prepared?”

“Just finishing his hair removal, and then he’ll be all ready for you–I hope you don’t mind that we got started.”

“As long as his head and neck are frozen, I can work,” he said, and then approached Leon, “I would shake your hand, but you seem to be a bit busy at the moment, subject 436. Now, what we are going to do today is three things. First, some moderate cognitive erosion. Second, we will create a state of advanced dyslexia. Third, we will perform a pain pleasure swap. Now, we’ll go ahead and open up your skull and proceed with the operation. This will take some time–all night, most likely, so I’m afraid you’ll be missing dinner. Don’t worry though, we’ll keep you well fed.”

Leon started screaming as the doctor applied local anesthetic to his skull, and then began cutting into the bone with an electric saw, but there was nothing he could do. He wasn’t even paying attention to the work the cubs were doing as they meticulously worked on his tattoos, all of them adjusting his restraints to access every side of his limbs. It felt like the doctor was sawing into his head forever, and the only measure of time he had was the slow progress of the tattoos. The cubs had nearly finished both his entire arms to the shoulders by the time the neurosurgeon was ready to begin the operation, and he signaled the cubs to stop their work for the moment.

The doctor behind him started clinking some tools together, and then spoke to Leon. “Alright subject 436–while I work, I am going to be asking you some questions. I need you to answer them to the best of your ability. Do you understand?”

“Please–please just let me go, please don’t do this…”

The neurosurgeon sighed and turned to the first doctor, “I believe we might need Sedative T9 for this operation. Would you administer a dose please?”

The doctor nodded and injected something into Leon’s frozen neck–he screamed, but a moment later, stopped. He felt so calm suddenly, like everything that was happening to him was happening far away, and to someone else.

“Now, subject 436, will you answer my questions?”

“Yes, I can answer…” Leon replied, and he heard the neurosurgeon begin his work. Every ten or fifteen seconds, he would ask Leon a basic math question, beginning with multiplication and division. The first two or three he could answer, and then suddenly he found it difficult to formulate an answer. For two or three more, if he focused hard, he could come up with something he thought might be close to right, and then he just had to answer that he didn’t know.

“What is ten times ten?”

“I…I don’t know…”

“What is two times two?”

“I…I don’t know. Why are you asking me this?”

“Don’t worry about it. Tell me, do you know how many states there are in the USA?”

Leon knew that he should know, but it was like the answer had disappeared from his head. “I…I don’t know.”

“Alright, and how many bases on a baseball diamond?”

“I don’t know that either…”

“Alright, let the record show that the subject’s quantitative skills have been severely curtailed. Now, subject 436–I’m going to give you three words. I need you to remember those words and repeat them back to me when I ask for them, alright? The words are: house, boat, and bacon. Can you repeat them back to me?”

“House. Boat. Bacon.”

“Good, now keep those words in mind,” the surgeon said, and went back to work for half a minute. “Can you repeat those words back to me?”

“Horse. Bed. Bacon.”

“Good. Doctor, could you present the subject with the flash cards?”

The first doctor retrieved some cards and held the first one up in front of Leon’s face. “Please read the first card, subject 436.”

“The quick brown fox jumped over the lazy dog.” The doctor then hid the card, and after a moment the neurosurgeon asked him to repeat what had been on the card. “The quick…no…the quivering food jumped…jumped over the large hotdog?” Leon replied. His head hurt, like he had a massive headache. Why couldn’t he remember? He was so hungry, all he could think about was food.

“Let the record show that the subject’s short term memory has been moderately compromised. That’s very good subject 436–now, onto the second task.”

The surgeon worked for a few moments, and then signaled the doctor to reveal the flash card again, “Please read what’s on the card, subject 436.”

Leon stared at the card hard for a few seconds, “uh…The…the…I don’t know the second word. The…fix pumped onto the…the blank god? That’s not…that’s not right, is it?”

“Let the record show that advanced dyslexia has been induced in the subject,” the surgeon said. “You’re doing very good subject 436, one last task, and this will all be over.”

The surgeon went back to work, fiddling with Leon’s brain, and he could feel the serum he’d been given start to wear off. He could fight again, but what was the point? They’d destroyed his mind already, there was nothing he could do but sit there and cry in terror. Finally, the neurosurgeon signalled one of the cubs to come over with his tattoo gun. “Would you please continue your work for a few seconds? I’d like to test the subject’s pleasure response.”

The cub returned to the line work on Leon’s thigh, and as soon as the gun started, Leon shivered and moaned. It didn’t hurt–it didn’t hurt at all–in fact, it felt amazing. The cub stopped, and before Leon could help himself, he was begging, “No–no, keep going, do it some more, come on…”

“Good–a sufficient response. Just give me a few more minutes to increase the dopamine response to induce a strong, addictive reaction in the subject…”

It was a few more minutes of work, and then the surgeon announced that he was done, and the first doctor told the cubs to resume their work while he and the surgeon put Leon’s skull back together. Now, however, the sensation of the tattoo guns wasn’t one of pain–but instead of divine pleasure. Leon was grunting and moaning, his puny cock dribbling out cum from his tiny balls the entire time, and soon, he found himself wanting it, wanting them to push the guns in harder, wanting them to make it hurt worse. “Come on, is that the fucking best you can do, fucking drill those things into me!” he shouted, shivering the entire time from head to toe. The first doctor grew tired of Leon’s shouting, and shoved a feeding tube down his throat, and Leon was silent for the next several hours the doctors used to sew him back up. Between the tattoo guns and the feeding, Leon was in heaven, the cubs finishing his arms and legs on both sides, before they all moved onto his huge gut, one of them even tattooing his tiny cock and balls.

Behind him, the two doctors were piecing his scalp back together, and then the second doctor took some strange goo and began smearing it across the incisions. “The FAT team here prides itself on making sure our members receive the best medical care–don’t worry about any scarring subject 436–by morning, you won’t even know we were in here. Of course, the tattoos on your skull would disguise it anyway, so you wouldn’t even need to be concerned.”

Leon, nearly seizing with pleasure from the tattooing, could barely comprehend what the doctor was saying. His sentences were just too long–he’d nearly forgotten what he’d said first by the time he was at the end. He felt so full though, and when the bonds holding his head in place were finally removed, and he could look down at his new tattoos. Looking at the work, it seemed like the cubs were actually being sloppy on purpose. All down both legs were massive motifs of fattening foods, all being devoured by huge men with pig faces. He couldn’t see his cock and balls to know what they’d done there, but both arms were done in tacky redneck–confederate flags, eagles, trailers, beer cans–the works, but it was his gut that attracted the most attention, where words and phrases had been tattooed all over him, all of them humiliating–“Gainer,” “Fat Ass,” “Slob,” “Toilet Slave,” “Whore,” “Trailer Trash,” they went on and on, and when they flipped him over and started on his back, the doctor was kind enough to tell him what they were putting there–a silhouette of a hog’s back, including a pig tail above his ass, so everyone fucking him would know that they were ball’s deep in nothing more than a disgustingly obese sow. His face was given a similar treatment with subtler tattoos designed to accentuate the size of his cheeks and jowls, two tusks curling from his upper lip up his cheeks, and the outline of a pig snout around his nose–and the word PIG repeated four times: on his forehead, across the back of his neck and head, and on both sides over his ears.

Now that most of the tattooing was done, though, two of the cubs brought over a huge collection of metal and began piercing his body. One cub focused on his cock and balls, inserting so many rings, bars and studs that he could feel the weight hanging off of him, every peirce of a needle another jolt of pleasure through his system. The other cub put two thick doorknockers through the flesh behind his nipples, keeping his thick aureolas intact–those were by far the most painful and thrilling, and then he began on Leon’s face. A thick ring in his septum, and then countless rings in his ears, eyebrows and lips, and after the feeding tube had been removed, ten studs in his tongue which made speaking nearly impossible. As a final humiliation, the doctor brought out a set of dentist tools and began prying teeth from Leon’s mouth, seemingly at random, leaving him gap toothed and in so much painful pleasure he could barely move. It was then that he finally felt the stress of the session overwhelming him, and the room faded from view, his last blurred image of the doctor slipping his mask over his nose and mouth, and the stench of Max’s filthy body and the sickly smell of his fat gas sending him off to sleep, and distantly, the sound of a voice in his ears, whispering to him, telling him new truths for the next day. In short sentences and with much repetition–Leon was just a simpleton now after all, and there was no going back.

The FAT Retreat (Part 3)

by Wesley Bracken

Commissioned by / Gift for Gaynerpig

– Day 3 –

“So tell me Leon, how do you feel about yourself? About your size?”

“What…what did you do to me? I…I don’t understand…”

“Just focus on answering the questions please. How do you feel about your size?”

Leon didn’t know how long he had been tied down, with the gas pumping into him. He didn’t know what had happened to him, he didn’t know what to do as he looked down at himself, as the massive amounts of fat hanging off of him. He was even larger than Max now and that was so…so hot! He’d always wanted to be big, right? Bigger? The biggest? But then why wasn’t he happier? Why did he have these nagging doubts that something was wrong? “I…I mean, I love being fat…right? I’m supposed to love it, but…no, I don’t…”

“You don’t love being fat?”

“No, I mean…it’s just so blurry, I don’t understand what happened…”

“Hmmm…” the doctor said, making a few marks on the clipboard he was carrying with him, and then looked thoughtfully at Leon. He was still attached to the cross where he’d been before, but the mask had been removed. It had done it’s job–Leon’s muscular physique was no more–but still, he wasn’t huge, or at least not by the standards of some of the men he’d seen at the retreat. The doctor gave him an eyeball guess of around 275 pounds, and he was very good at guessing at this point. “It seems that you still have some residual cognitive dissonance. I anticipate that the feeling will dissipate over the course of the retreat. You’ll be feeling normal in no time. Still, the sleep study you just completed shows that you’re at risk for sleep apnea, so I’m going to have to prescribe a CPAP machine for you. It’ll be in your room tonight for you to start using.”

“You mean…you mean a…a mask? I don’t want to wear a mask anymore, I don’t want to put that back on, please don’t put it back on me…”

“If you don’t, then you might suffocate in your sleep, and we can’t have that, Leon.”

Leon felt his heart catch in his throat. He knew what those machines were like–his father had had one, he’d seen him sleep with it many times, and that was one reason he’d promised to never get fat…right? But then why is he fat now? And why…why does he kind of like it? Why did he kind of want to get bigger? “What’s happened to me? I don’t want this…not this…”

The doctor looked at him thoughtfully for a second. “Why don’t you want this, Leon?”

“I’m fucking scared shitless, you fucker!” Leon shouted, “Fucking look at me! I’m gonna fucking die!. I’m gonna get fucking diabetes, and my legs and arms are gonna fall off, and this fucking fat is gonna crush the fucking life out of me, and…” Leon tried to continue, but he was sobbing now, and it was the truth. He was terrified. As much as he loved being fat, as much as he wanted to get fatter, the terror of his father haunted him, and the doctor nodded a few times, and then came up and unbuckled Leon’s restraints. “Alright, well, for your first session this morning, I’m prescribing some MentCon–you seem to have some issues you need help sorting out.”

Leon almost fell over when the doctor released him, his legs and arms were numb from being pinned in position, and the doctor helped him into a wheelchair and wheeled him out of the lab, Leon embarrassed to be seen being wheeled around like a mound of trash, and even though he insisted that he could walk, the doctor ignored him and pushed him down several hallways until they came to a series of room labeled MentCon, and he pushed him into one, where he found himself in a cozy office with a large gentleman sitting behind a desk. “Good morning,” the man said, smiling warmly at Leon, and then looked up at the doctor, “What have you got for me?”

“Classic Pocrescophobia. I figured you would be the best for that.”

“Oh I love those–he’ll be as right as rain by lunchtime.”

The therapist left Leon in the wheelchair, and left the office, and he looked around nervously, before hefting himself up out of the chair, aghast at being wheeled around like an invalid.

“That really isn’t necessary, subject 436–have a seat.”

Leon didn’t pay him any mind, and walked over to a wide mirror on the wall and looked at himself. He was still naked–aside from his collar. No one had even bothered to dress him. Looking at his reflection, he was so beautifully fat, but then why was he so terrified? Still, he could look even better. Maybe with another hundred pounds…or maybe two hundred…The thought terrified him, but he couldn’t stop, imagining himself the size of Max–now there was a big man, what a fucking hot piece of meat his roommate was. He wished he’d played around with him when he’d had the chance.

The therapist settled back down behind his desk, and flipped through Leon’s file that the doctor had left behind. “Hmmm…subject 436, would you be so kind as to lay down on the couch for me over there?” Leon looked at the couch by the desk, and unable to resist the command, he waddled over and gingerly sat down on the couch, wondering if he would be able to get back up if he laid down, but he did as the therapist asked. He helped him breathe and relax for a few moments, and then he said into his bracelet, “Sleep, subject 436,” and Leon eyes flickered shut.

“Subject 436, tell me–do you know why you are so afraid of being fat?”

In his slumber, Leon tried to keep a handle on everything he’d kept bottled up for so long, but between the hypnotic compulsion and the terror of the last few days, everything came spilling out. How he’d watched his obese father slowly succumb to diabetes, how he’d hated watching him kill himself with food, how he’d sworn that he would never let that same fate happen to him. However, as it flooded out of him, the therapist started contradicting him, started muddling things up. What had seemed so clear to him before started to seem hazy. He couldn’t remember much of anything about his father, suddenly, and as his memory faded, the fear faded too, like someone had taken it and thrown a thick rug over it, enough to smash it flat and make it unnoticible, and it felt like a great relief, to not have to be afraid any longer, but then the therapist kept talking, filling his head with new memories, and new fears. How he’d been hungry his entire childhood, how he’d spent it terrified that he might go hungry, that he might wither away if he didn’t eat as much as he could, all the time. How he’d always envied fat people, and from that, grown attracted to them. He wanted to be fat more than anything–it didn’t matter what the risks were, it didn’t matter what might happen to him, so long as he kept growing.

A realization came to Leon as he listened to the therapist, a growing knot in him, and he realized he was hungry. When had he last eaten? He couldn’t even remember when his last meal had been, and that filled him with such terror that he flung himself awake from his trance in a panic, and didn’t stop muttering and crying until the therapist dug out a bag of chips from the bin behind his desk and gave it to Leon, who started devouring the chips, and the therapist assured him that his fears were completely legitimate. He should want to be fat, after all, what was the alternative? Wasting away into a stick? Leon couldn’t agree more, and he was so happy that the therapist understood what he was feeling.

“I just feel like a giant weight has been lifted off of me,” Leon said between fistfulls of chips, “I’ so happy that there are other people like me.”

“Yes, there are more of us than you might have realized,” the therapist said, getting up from behind the desk and walking over to Leon. Like all of the people working the retreat, the therapist was a large man, and Leon found himself watching him walk over, his belly jiggling with every step, the therapist reaching down to tweak his nipples with his hands. Leon really wanted to jack off–he was so horny–but the hunger wouldn’t abate, and he had to keep eating–he had to not starve. “You know,” the therapist said, “I saw your roommate, subject 367, last night–Max, right? Tell me, what do you think of Max?”

“I…I suppose he’s hot. But we only saw each other for a little while, when I got here. We didn’t have a chance to…uh…do anything, really.”

“Still, what would you like to do with him? Do you think he’s attractive?”

“I…I mean, yeah…he’s really big. I’d like to be as big as him one day.”

“I bet you would,” the therapist said, dropping his hand down and kneading Leon’s comparatively small gut. He was starting to breathe quickly, being this close to such a large man, but he still couldn’t bring himself to stop eating the chips, at least until he reached the bottom of the bag and emptied the crumbs into his mouth.

“Do…do you have anything else?” Leon asked in a whisper, feeling the therapist press his gut into his chest, “I…I’m still hungry.”

“Sleep subject 436,” the therapist said, and watched Leon’s eyes flicker shut. “subject 436–for the next hour, you are no longer Leon. You are just a dumb fat whore with no name at all–all you care about is sucking cock and begging men to fuck your fat ass.”

“Y–yes sir…” Leon said, and when the therapist slid his thick cock into Leon’s slack mouth, he came alive–sucking it for all it was worth, listening to the therapist moan, happy that he was sucking cock, happy that he was nothing more than a dumb, fat whore. The therapist dragged him off the couch and made the whore beg him for his cock, licking his dress shoes first, tasting the shoe shine on them, before the therapist finally gave in and fucking him roughly, the whore begging him to fuck him harder, and harder still.

Leon woke up on the floor, his mouth and ass sore, but feeling refreshed and not at all worried about what might have happened. He’d just fallen off the couch after all, and the therapist was helpful enough to help him up from the ground.

“Yes subject 436, I think the Fat Action Team is just the place for you–we’ll take good care of you, I promise. Now, it’s almost time for lunch–why don’t you go eat something more substantial?”

The thought of lunch already had Leon salivating, and he struggled up from the couch, fighting against his new gut, and he lumbered out the door naked, cum dribbling from his ass and down the inside of his thighs. He headed down the hall, not paying the therapist any more mind, joining the throng of men as they headed towards the massive mess hall. He lost himself there, in the tables laden with food, desperate to fill the pit of fear in his gut with something–anything–and he gorged like he’d never eaten before, and knowing that he was working to make himself bigger, knowing that today, he wasn’t going to wither, it was making him hard, and he had to pause for a moment to reach underneath his gut, jacking his cock with one food coated hand, shoving cake into his mouth with the other, until he came violently, and returned to the feast.

Still, it ended too soon, but he was ferried towards the doors with the rest, sorting himself into the proper doorway, where the men directed him to Metabolics Lab 15. When he arrived, however, he discovered that he wasn’t alone, like he had been before. In the room was close to a dozen subjects, and they could be easily split into two groups–guys like him, who were relatively clean, and then a set of guys who were filthier than he could even imagine. It took him a moment to recognize one of the men in the other group–it was Max, but his clothing was soaked through with sweat, and he watched as his roommate let off a massive fart, and then sat back into the stench, moaning and massaging his crotch as he did, letting off a huge belch afterwards. It was disgusting, and he couldn’t believe he’d been fantasizing about him in the therapist’s office. How in the hell had he become such a mess in just one day? Had he been out even longer than he’d thought?

They waited for a few minutes, until a few more people arrived for the session, and by then the smell in the room was horrendous, and Leon could see that he wasn’t the only person disgusted by the filthy, fat men in the room. Still, each of them were all sat down and secured into chairs, the clean men facing the filthy ones across the room, but while the clean men were only fitted with masks like the one which had fattened Leon up overnight, something he was increasingly thankful for, considering how close he had been to starving himself, the filthy men across from them were given some sort of injection, and sealed into some kind of glass pod.

As soon as the pods were sealed, Leon saw Max, who was directly across from him, start to writhe in something between pain and ecstasy, and he watched as his roommate suddenly pissed himself in the capsule, the piss puddling around his feet at the bottom of the pod, and then he was cumming as well, huge amounts of semen flowing into the growing puddle as well, and while he couldn’t hear it, or smell it, it looked like he was belching and farting a massive amount, and the thick cigar Max was smoking quickly shrouded the entire pod in a heavy haze. Then, suddenly, he could smell it. It was like the mask he had on had a direct line to Max’s pod, and the funk of his roommate’s body, fluids, and smoke drove it’s way into his lungs, and he tried to gag, but before he could, he started feeling light headed, like he’d felt from the fat gas, and it wasn’t so bad after all. In fact, it was kind of hot, smelling Max’s filthy body, and somehow he knew it was Max, but he couldn’t say why–some residual memory of the cigar smoke from that first night, some hidden remembrance of the man’s subtle BO, but heightened a thousand fold now, and pumped into his lungs, making his cock harder than it had ever been, and unable to stop himself,he spasmed in the chair, and came, shooting across his fat thighs.

He wasn’t alone either–all of the clean men were succumbing to the ecstasy of the filthy men across from them, and they came over and over again. They came again when drains opened up in the bottom of the pods, sucking down the pool of piss and cum that had collected there and pumped it directly into their masks, forcing them all to swallow it down, not that they had any interest in objecting. Some of them began cumming at a near constant clip, and one on the far end actually drained his balls, dry cumming over and over again, nearly seizing in pleasure.

And then, it was over–but not really. Leon had been profoundly changed by his experience, and he fought with him restraints as the doctor freed him from the chair, and he rushed over to Max, getting down and licking the sweat from his wide belly, burying his face into the trucker’s stinking flab, and he came again without even touching himself, and the men all left the lab in pairs, heading to dinner, but Leon spent nearly as much time behind Max sniffing down his farts and cleaning his crack as he did at the table, stuffing his face, the fear still gnawing away at his bones. He was bigger than he’d ever been in his life, but he was still too small, he could still starve, he just wasn’t big enough–would never be big enough to keep the fear away, but at least he could eat, and Max helped him, stuffing his face before belching down his throat, watching Leon swallow down his gas, cumming again, splattering the floor with his seed.

Leon didn’t really remember how he and Max got back to their room–his obsession with Max’s body refused to abate. Every time he smelled him it was like the first time. He would do anything to be near him, he suddenly couldn’t even imagine being apart from him. Back in their room, still without even speaking to each other, Max sat down on the toilet and Leon knelt in front of him, drinking down his piss and then drinking in his farts, the stench of Max’s shit, licked his body clean for him, and finally, after what felt like hours, long after the lights had clicked off, the two of them found their drives winding down, and they were able to regain some of their self-control.

Fumbling in the dark, they discovered that their bunk beds had been replaced with a single king, but neither of them minded. Leon didn’t think he would have been able to sleep away from Max at all. They laid down on the bed together, but Leon felt a strange panic start growing in him as he laid there, coupled with a hard time breathing, and he groped around his side of the bed until he felt something plastic he recognized by feeling as a mask. Of course, he’d have to wear that to sleep now, how could he have forgotten? He pulled on his C-PAP mask, and felt air push it’s way against his face, the sickly sweet smell of fat from his night long growth, coupled with Max’s musk. The big trucker rolled over next to him and spooned him from behind, and the two massive men fell asleep, exhausted, unable to even wonder what the rest of the retreat may have in store for them.

The FAT Retreat (Part 2)

by Wesley Bracken

Commissioned by / Gift for Gaynerpig

– Day Two –

The lights in the room turned on suddenly, and Max snorted himself awake in the lower bunk, and looked around, momentarily confused about where he was. A voice came on from the PA in the room:

Good morning FAT members. Breakfast is scheduled in half an hour. Please be dressed and ready at the door in that time, clothing has been provided for you in your rooms.

Max hefted himself up off the bed and took a moment to rub his gut. He was getting so big now, he loved it. He could only vaguely remember his life before his first FAT meeting, how he’d always felt so guilty about his size, but no longer–now he just wanted to get bigger, and the videos he’d seen of himself on the web were so hot he couldn’t wait to star in a few more. He secretly hoped, though, that he wasn’t going to be staring in any with Leon–the slim guy just wasn’t his type at all. Thinking about Leon, he got up off the bed and looked in the top bunk, but it was empty–and he looked around his room, and there was no sign of his bunkmate anywhere. That was certainly strange, but he didn’t think too much of it–there was probably some sort of rational reason for his disappearance. Still, the young man had been pretty delusional–no one was here under duress after all–so he hoped he hadn’t run off or something.

Max looked around, and saw that a loose fitting shirt and some sweats had been hung on a bar by the door, and Max looked around, puzzled about where the clothes he’d been wearing the day before had gone. He gave a shrug, took a moment to use the toilet, and then pulled on his clothing. The clothes were very big on him, even at his size, and the shirt had a number printed in a large typeface on both sides, “367” but he didn’t know what that meant. He sat down on his bunk for a few minutes and smoked one of several cigars he found in his sweats pocket, until the door slid open, and he got up again and looked out into the hallway, as the voice spoke again:

FAT members, please follow the yellow lights lining the top of the walls to the mess hall. After breakfast, you will be directed to your first personalized session of the retreat.

The hallway was already packed with men, all of them around Max’s size, trudging down the hallway, and Max pushed his way into the throng and followed the current, seeing the yellow lights guiding their path up where the walls met the ceiling, and after a short walk, the hallway emptied out into a massive room which reminded Max of an airplane hanger with a horribly low ceiling. Still, the smells! He was starving, and pushing forward he could see that the tables were heaped with food of all kinds–it seemed like each was set differently, and while he wanted to look at them all and see what each offered, he saw that the mass of men was already crowding around the tables, not even using the chairs and benches, and he got the sudden sense that if he did not choose now, he would eat nothing, like a massive game of musical chairs, the runt who didn’t get to the bitch’s nipple in time. The fear of not eating raced through him, and he shoved his way up to the nearest table and simply ate–it didn’t matter what he was eating, all that mattered was that he didn’t go hungry. The competition of the feed consumed him for the next three hours, as the men ate each and every table in the room down to scraps, demolishing one before moving onto the next which was relatively unoccupied, and by the end of breakfast time they milled about, none of them hungry, and yet all of them desperate to eat, plucking scraps off the empty tables, biding time, and the men turned their attention to each other, eyeing each other guts appreciatively, and a few brasher men began kissing, licking the leftover food from each other’s faces, and perhaps smearing a glob of butter on another’s penis, feeling their fat shiver as they jacked them quickly.

Sensing the restlessness of the room, at least ten doors on both the long sides of the mess hall slid open, and the voice came on again:

FAT members, on your shirt is your subject number for the duration of the retreat. Please make your way to the gate your number falls within, and you will be directed to your first FAT session.

Max looked down at his shirt, and saw it was covered with food, but wiping some of it away he could make out his number, and pushed his way through the crowd to the gate marked “350-400” and queued up, where they were slowly filed through, and Max was collected by a robust man in a white lab coat and escorted down several hallways until they came to a small laboratory labeled “Metabolics Lab #3”. There was one other subject there already, slightly smaller than Max, in one of the chairs of the room, and a young, cubbish lab assistant was strapping him to the chair. The man who’d escorted him sat Max in the next seat, and when the assistant finished with the first man, he began securing Max to the seat, and he got a little scared. He’d participated in one light bondage flick with FAT, but this seemed a bit strange. Two more men were eventually escorted into the lab and similarly secured, before the door slid closed and the doctor came over.

“Welcome gentlemen,” he said, “We will be starting you off with a metabolic manipulation this morning. This will require several subcutaneous and intravenous injections, and then we will monitor your progress over the next three hours, to insure there are no unwanted effects.”

“Wait, injections?” one of the men in the room said, “I hate needles.”

The doctor simply ignored him, and he and the assistant progressed down the line, giving each man a number of injections in many parts of their bodies, and the first man, the one with the fear of needles, gave the greatest struggle, but otherwise the process was rather smooth, and after the shots had been given, the assistant and the doctor retreated back behind a row of computers to observe, though it wasn’t long before the doctor had his hands down the chubby cub’s pants and his tongue down the younger man’s throat.

The four men in the room, meanwhile, were watching the scene, all of them turned on, and Max noticed that he was starting to sweat. The temperature in the lab wasn’t too great, and yet in a matter of minutes, his shirt was nearly soaked through, and his hair and beard were sopping wet. Looking at the other men, he saw that they were all in a similar condition, their food stained shirts matted to their bodies, and then they started to smell. It started as a fairly normal scent of body odor, but as the hours passed, it grew worse and worse, until each of the men had started to feel a bit sick to their stomachs.

“Oh god, what the…is this normal?” one of the men said, as another retched a bit from the fuck rolling off his body.

“Yes… oh fuck yes…” the doctor said from the floor behind the computers where he was fucking the cub’s ass, but none of the men knew whether he was talking about them or not. Finally, the doctor and the cub finished up, and they started walking from man to man, examining them in turn, giving them each a pill to help with the nausea, and took samples of their sweat on cotton swabs from various areas of their bodies, especially their armpits, crotch and ass crack, and set them aside.

Max kept hoping the sweating would stop, but it seemed to only grow worse, and he was actually getting thirsty. Sensing their need, the doctor and assistant helped keep them hydrated, and by the end of the first session, all of the men were reeking like they hadn’t showered in weeks. The doctor checked the time, and started unbuckling the straps on each of the men, “Alright, everything looks normal–go have lunch, your first session is over.”

“Wait, what?” one of the men said, “You’re just…I mean, when will I stop sweating like this?”

“Yeah, I mean, this is kind of gross…” Max said.

“Don’t worry gentlemen, everything will be taken care of. Go enjoy lunch, I’m sure you’re all hungry.”

They were all hungry, but that was nothing new. Still, the four of them left the room and followed the yellow lights back to the mess hall, where they all devoured another meal, trying not to be alarmed by their new scent. The men in the room all seemed disconcerted for various reasons, but Max was too busy feeling embarrassed by his stink to think about what everyone else must have been going through, and he tried to find tables which were lightly packed, because every time he pushed up next to someone, they would retch or give him the worst scowl, and it made him feel awful.

Lunch ended eventually, and he made his way back to the gate, where a different sort of man escorted him off. Instead of being dressed in a labcoat, he was simply dressed in a business suit, and appeared unfazed by Max’s new stench, which he was thankful for. The man even offered him a cigar as they walked, and they arrived in a cozy looking office labeled “Mental Conditioning Rm. 33”, with a cushy armchair facing a massive TV mounted on the wall. The man had Max sit down in the chair, and then dimmed the lights, but before Max could ask what was going on, the TV turned on and a massive prismatic spiral drew him in within seconds, and Max’s entire world collapsed, but off in the distance, he could almost make out the suited man talking to him, telling him how much he loved his filthy stink, how smelling like a sweat and cum stained rag turned him on, how he smoked nearly constantly and loved the stench of strong tobacco, and how he refused to shower, wash his hands, brush his teeth, or even change his clothes, preferring to be as dirty and grimy as possible.

He had no idea how much time had passed, but when he came back to himself, the lights were back up and the TV was off, like no time had passed at all, and he took a deep inhale of his stench, and let out a sigh of pleasure, his cock hardening beneath his belly.

“Alright subject 367, I just need to ask you a few questions if that’s alright.”

“Huh? Oh…uh…sure…” Max said, but he was more interested in his armpit for some reason, and he lifted an arm and took a deep sniff of the funk there, and then licked up his own sweat with a moan.

“Alright, on a scale of one to ten, with one being low and ten being high, please tell me how much you like your current hygiene level.”

“Fuck, can I answer eleven? I smell so fuckin’ hot…” Max said, and unable to help himself, reached into his pants and started groping at his cock. “Oh yeah, definitely a…well,, maybe a nine, but only because I bet I…I bet I can get even filthier, oh fuck…”

“Now, how many showers would you say you plan to take in the next month.”

“None, I don’t shower ever.”

“Alright, and how frequently do you wipe after defecating?”

“You mean, like, when I take a shit?”

“Yes.”

“Uh…I guess not very often. Maybe if it’s a real messy one, but not usually.”

“Sleep, subject 367,” the doctor said, and Max’s eyes went blank, “You do not wipe your ass after taking a shit. Never. Do you understand?”

“Yes sir…”

“Wake subject 367,” Max jolted up again, and without missing a beat the man repeated his question, “Subject 367, how frequently do you wipe after defecating?”

“Oh, never. My underwear takes care of that.”

“Alright. Now, how often do you change your clothes?”

“I don’t. I fuckin’ love wearin’ clothes until they’re stinkin’ rags.”

“And you’re a smoker, right?”

“I am–cigars, preferably.”

“What kind of cigars do you like to smoke, 367?”

“Oh man, the smellier the better. They’d better reek, and make me reek too, for hours after I’m done with them…speaking of which…” Max added, figiting a bit, “Do you mind if I light up? Feels like I haven’t smoked in hours.”

“Well, I suspect you haven’t. And here, try one of these, I’m sure you’ll like them, given your tastes.” The doctor handed him a large, rough cigar, and the smoke was far more acrid and thick than Max was used to, but man did it stink. It was giving him a hard on, sitting in a cloud of foul smoke and musk, and the doctor, smiling a bit, got up and shoved a hand down the front of Max’s sweat soaked pants, into his gummy fatpad and jacked him off quickly, Max happy for the attention, even if the suddenness left him feeling a bit uneasy. The doctor wiped his cum soaked hand across Max’s beard, letting him lick the last bit off his fingers, before sitting down again.

‘Alright 367, everything seems to be in order. Just one last question. How important is it for a sexual partner to approve of your hygiene?”

“Oh, very important, man, I need a man who fuckin’ loves my stinkin’ body like I do.”

“Alright, it looks like you check out. Why don’t you go to dinner?”

“Dinner?” Max asked, “But I just ate lunch, like, half an hour ago.”

“Lunch was three hours ago. Now, go on and eat, and then return to your room. You’ve had a long day.”

A bit confused, Max got up out of the chair and followed the throngs of men outside the door to the mess hall, where he devoured another massive meal, but this time, instead of avoiding people, he pushed his way into the throngs, loving how his stench could drive men away, letting him get closer than anyone else. After eating way too much, even for himself, Max waddled off back to his room and lumbered inside, where the first thing he did was take a massive shit, and then he sat on the toilet, smelling the stench and jacked off, wiping the cum on his sweaty gut and into his gunt, enjoying the sticky feeling, before getting off and flushing. Then, he stripped out of his clothes and laid down on the bunk, smoking cigar after cigar while jacking off over and over, licking up his sweat and smelling his funk for several hours before finally collapsing and falling asleep long after the lights had turned off, wondering what the next day would have in store for him.

“W–What? Where am I?”

“Shhh…It’s ok, you’re safe here with me.”

“What the, let me go! What the fuck is this shit, are you a faggot or something? And…and what the hell are you wearing! That shit looks fucking gross, and I can fucking smell you across the room.”

“Well, you see, I saw you at the bar last night, and you were so cute, I just couldn’t resist bringing you home with me. In fact, you were quite agreeable the whole time, but I do love a struggle. Still, you’ll be plenty happy here in a few months.”

“A few…a few months! You freak–Help! Somebody help!”

“The nearest neighbors are miles away Clyde, it’s just you and me.”

“What are you–stay the fuck away from me!”

“Mmm…I do love stubble. And it’s so thick! I bet your beard will look amazing when it’s all grown in and ragged. Not sure if I’ll keep your head shaved though–we’ll have to see.”

“Oh my god, you fucking reek man, what the fuck–have you ever taken a shower?”

“Oh, you’re one to talk, you know. Go to sleep, piggy…Can you hear me, pig?”

“…Yes, master…”

“Pig, it would feel so good if, right now, you pissed yourself, right here where you’re sitting, and it would feel even better if you shit as well. Can you do that for me?…Oh yes, that’s good, look at that stain, and I can smell that shit already, that’s very good pig, you’re a very, very good pig, it feels good, doesn’t it? It feels good shitting and pissing yourself?”

“Yes master, it feels very good…”

“Now, I want you to remember how good this feels, and when you wake up, even though you’re disgusted with yourself, you’ll still feel aroused by how much of a dirty pig you’ve been. Now, wake up piggy.”

“W–what? I…what…”

“Look at that, what a dirty guy you are, pissing and shitting yourself in my house.”

“I didn’t, I mean–no, don’t–”

“I do love the feeling of warm shit, don’t you Carl? Look how hard that cock of yours is. I think someone likes being dirty. Now I have to piss, so open wide Carl–and you’ll even get to taste my filthy jock while I’m at it. Yes, you’re going to be staying here for a long time I think, but you’ll learn how much you love it soon enough.”

Simon had had it with the fucking renovations that were taking place in his office building. Sure, it was noisy and distracting, there was crap everywhere, but he fucking hated having to be around a bunch of sweaty workmen, most of them smelling like week old BO and stale cigarette smoke, and he wasn’t shy about letting his disdain show. In fact, by the end of the first week, he’d berated every workman on the project, and they had all had enough of it, and so the next week, a new guy was working as well.

He was supposedly a specialist brought on for some special electrical work, but Simon had this uneasy feeling all day that he was being watched, and every time he felt it he was around the new guy, and it was starting to creep him out. Worse, all day long he had been feeling hornier and hornier, with no explanation whatsoever. It was almost time to leave for the day when he finally gave in and slipped into the bathroom, locking himself into one of the stalls and pulling out his cock to jack off.

However, it was less than a minute later that the door opened, some heavy boots trodded in and another guy sat down in the other stall. “Took you long enough, Simon,” the man said, “Still, we can have some fun now, eh?”

Simon couldn’t stop stroking his cock, when some wave of energy slammed into him–

Si sat down on the gravel, his back against the hot pipes, warm from the sun. Working outside in the summer heat all day, working up a powerful sweat. He lifted an arm and took a whiff of his pit stink, his cock hard in his filthy jeans. He groped it through the denim, stiff with cum from the hundreds of loads he’d shot into them over the last few months–perfect time for a wank. Still, his pits are good, but what he really wants–

Simon ripped his hand away from his cock, gasping for breath. “What the fuck! What the hell was that?”

“Ha, I knew you would be a tough one. This will be fun. Go on, keep stroking–I know how horny you are.”

Simon tried to get up from the toilet and get out of the bathroom, but his arm brushed against his rock hard cock and he gasped, his hand moving against his will, gripping the shaft, stroking–

Si, licking his lips, unknotted his heavy work boots and yanked them off, taking a moment with the second one to shove his face in the neck, smelling the hot leather, the stench of his feet. He gave the side a lick, tasting the grit of the job site, gnawing on the sole, still massaging his cock in his jeans. He was leaking, a stain growing to one side of his crotch. Still, he wanted a proper wank, and he undid the fly and pulled out his thick, seven inch shaft, giving it a few pumps, feeling his thick, overhanging foreskin slide back and forth over his sensitive head. He pulled it all the way down and collected some of his cheese on his grimy fingers, licking it off–

“No–oh god, no!” Simon said, yanking his hand off and gripping the side of the toilet.

“Ha, what a champ! So strong willed, but you’re close, aren’t you, Si? Go on, keep jacking.”

“Please…please don’t, I don’t…” Simon whimpered, his hand creeping back around his cock–

Tasted so fucking good, but his favorite part–he slid off his sock, soaked through with his sweat, he could smell it from a couple of feet away. He smothered his face with the damp fabric, running in across his face, feeling it scratch against his stubble, his smooth head. So fucking close now, he bit down on the sock, sucking his sweat out of it, feeling the orgasm building, and he blew his load all over his greasy tanktop with a loud moan. He sat back, relaxing in the sun, content, before putting his boots back on and getting back to work with his mates.–

The worker got off the toilet and went to the stall next to his, and with a little work, managed to get the lock undone. Sure enough, the stall was empty, and smiling, he left the building, certain that Si would enjoy his new life.

The Seventh Day of Christmas

“Ok, what the fuck? Who in the hell actually asks for socks and underwear for Christmas?” Santa said and he leaned over Edgar’s bed. Edgar was in his late 20’s and had always been sensible and pragmatic, and it had served him well so far. Waking up, he stared up at Santa for a moment, before reaching over and grabbing his glasses from his nightstand and turned on the light. When he could actually make out the figure looming over him, that’s when he really freaked out.

“Oh shit, what in the hell are you doing in my room!”

“I’m Santa Claus–I can go wherever the fuck I want, and you still didn’t answer my question–why in the hell did you actually ask for socks and underwear? What the hell is wrong with you?”

“But…but I do need socks and underwear…”

Santa rolled his eyes and looked around the room. The whole place was perfectly organized and tidy, and Edgar looked like he took good care of himself. He wasn’t muscular, but just healthfully slim, and aside from his eyesight there wasn’t anything wrong with him. Santa scowled–how fucking boring. “Well, I don’t know why you need new underwear…I was under the impression that you still loved your old underwear…”

With a wave that knocked away Edgar’s covers, he saw that a few bits of clothing had magically materialized on his body, and looking down at them, he shuddered. They were definitely underwear and socks alright, but not the kind he was used to wearing. It was a ribbed tank, a jockstrap, and two calf length athletic socks, and they were all filthy. The tank was nearly brown and felt kind of crispy, the jock felt like it was actually wet, and the soles of the socks were so filthy they were almost black with his big toes sticking out of the end of both. “What the fuck? These aren’t mine!”

“Sure they are,” Santa said, “You’ve been wearing them for about nine months straight–sleeping in them, working out in them–yeah, you’ve been working out a lot in them, haven’t you, Edge?”

Edgar felt his body start to heat up, his muscles tensing all over his body as they started to swell in size, he groaned in pain, and soon, the underwear that had all been quite loose on him was looking too tight, the tank stretched across his thick pecs and unable to hide the bottom of his abs, the jock elastic cutting into his waist, the pouch distended with  a nearly ten inch cock, the socks stretched to the limit against his size fourteen feet. Something between a week and a half of stubble and a short beard spread across his face and neck, and his hair looked like it had been shaven off recently as well, but had partially grown back in. He reeked of sweat and cum, and it was so fucking fantastic…Edge pulled the tank up to his nose and took a deep sniff off the month’s old cum, piss and sweat, and let out a deep sigh of satisfaction.

The room around Santa had changed as well, reeking of stale air and the stench of men, and we went over and sat down on the weight bench, hauling off his boots, showing off his own filthy socks, and Edge leered at him, before getting down on his knees, shoving his nose into the sole, licking at the grimy fabric, massaging his hard cock through the pouch of his nasty jock. He was already leaking cum, like always, but he lived on the edge–his goal was to never cum more than once a week, just hover on the edge, filled with horny energy, and workout all day long, smearing his precum into his underwear, rehydrating with his piss, and occasionally he would blow a huge load all over himself and sleep, before doing it all again.

Santa had laid all the way back on the bench now, and Edge had his socked feet in the air, his tongue rammed as deep into the old man’s filthy shit chute as he could get it, grinding his cock against the bench. He was so close! He couldn’t stop himself, and he shot all over the bench with a loud groan, Santa stroking himself off to the sounds of Edge’s satisfaction, and then he tucked the nasty muscle ape back into bed, and slipped out of the room. He wouldn’t be needing new underwear for a good long while he figured, and maybe next year Edge would ask for something better.

The Lizardman Plot (Part 1)

by Wesley Bracken

Commissioned by: Guderian

WARNING: This one is strange too. Scalies, F to M TF, raunch, incest other stuff….

“What if they turn around? They can still see us!”

“Would you just come on? You said you’d be able to keep up.”

Matt blushed, but Krista had already stepped out from behind the shipping container and was dashing across the drive towards the main building of the complex, and Matt pushed himself up off the ground and hurried after her, but he wasn’t quite as well equipped as she was for running. She–six foot three, lithe and limber, gymnast and karate enthusiast, and he–short pudgy art major, emphasis photography, more used to watching scenes than participating in them. Still, he did his best to keep up, and managed to come up next to her beside the building, where there was a window high on the factory wall above them.

“Give me a boost,” Krista said.

“Wait, what?”

“Come on, get me up to the window. I’ll sneak in and open the door.”

“I don’t think that’s–”

“Would you quit thinking so hard and just do it? That security cart is going to come around again eventually, and if you don’t hurry up and boost me, then they’re going to catch us, and then we’re going to be in as much shit as everyone we’re looking. Do you want to find your brother or not?”

Matt gulped. Travis was the reason he’d gotten sucked into this whole conspiracy in the first place. He had to find him–it was his fault that he’d gone missing in the first place. Matt had been looking out for him after everything that happened with their parents when he’d suddenly disappeared, and that had led him to Krista’s website where she cataloged the massive string of disappearances which it seemed like everyone of importance was turning a blind eye towards. While Krista had never really respected, nor trusted, Matt much, she had been impressed with his photography and camera work, especially after he documented a kidnapping in an alley on the street, two men with strange golden eyes luring some young men into the back of a van. He’d helped her confront a few politicians and police officers on camera as well, but while the videos had gone a bit viral, still nothing was being done. They needed an expose, and for that, she knew they needed to get into the complex.

It was huge, but then again, every building in the industrial district was huge. The disappearances had begun right after the ribbon cutting ceremony–which had been attended by nearly every city politician, and most of the police force. The truth was in there, she was sure of it, and so she glared Matt down until he sighed, clasped his hands into a step and braced himself, letting Krista step up and push herself off, grabbing the ledge and pulling herself up, where she fiddled with the window for a moment and slipped inside. Matt, meanwhile, did his very best to make himself as small as possible in the shadows, and hoped that no one would notice him, should they pass by again. Still, he wasn’t exactly hard to spot–he was a big, clumsy guy really, and Krista was already furious at him for the noise he’d made climbing over the fence earlier. Still, he didn’t have to wait long. He saw the door near where he was crouching pop open, and Krista motioned him to join her inside. After taking a quick look around, he hurried in, nearly tripping and sprawling out on the gravel, but he caught himself–or rather, Krista caught him and yanked him inside where they tumbled into a heap.

They disentangled in an awkward moment, Matt blushing and apologizing quietly as he did, and Krista just looked at him, obviously regretting having him along. Still, he was the one with the camera know-how, and she was the one with the skills–they had to work together for any of this to work out at all. Besides, she could use an extra set of eyes, as clumsy as he might be. Still, they were inside, for better or worse, and Krista led Matt up onto a high catwalk, hopefully out of sight from anyone on the ground, and from the dust on the railing, she assumed it wasn’t highly trafficked. With Krista in the lead, and Matt behind her, doing his best to calm his nerves, they pressed their way deeper into the facility, the rooms becoming hotter and steamier, stinking like a swamp before too long.

They hadn’t gone far, however, when they saw that it wasn’t people who were staffing the facility, but something else entirely. They were all lizardmen, or at least that’s the best description that either one of them could come up with. They found themselves in a steamy, swelteringly hot room, one side of the room covered with dials and controls, pistons and pipes all of them staffed and manned by lizards, but from their high vantage, hidden amongst the pipes clustered at the ceiling, they could see that there were really two types of lizards below them. Most of the work was being done by larger lizards that looked like alligators who had figured out how to walk on their hind legs. Around the room, manning computers and supervising the gators were slender, muscular raptors, their eyes far more intelligent…and even a bit cruel. They saw one of the gators trip up suddenly, and faster than they could see, a raptor had hopped down and was beating it back upright, forcing it to get back to work at the machine wall.

Something else they couldn’t help but notice was that all of the lizards were male. The gators all had normal sized cocks and balls–or they would be normal on a person. On their large, wide frames, they actually looked small. Such was not the case with the raptors–their cocks were all huge, and they all remained erect or semi-erect as they watched. On occasion, a raptor would obviously become horny and summon a gator to service it, before sending it back to the wall. However, at the center of much of the activity was one raptor who was different from the others–his eyes were not the greenish hazel of all the rest–they were speckled with gold and shone in the dim light of the room. He seemed to be in charge, and as Matt looked around the room, he noticed that there was a gator walking along the wall, supervising the workers, who had the same golden eyes, and something else was glinting there, on his wrist…

He let out a gasp and pointed the gator out to Krista. Through the haze of steam they could actually see them quite well, and the one Matt indicated had a glint of metal around it’s wrist. “That’s Travis’ bracelet! What in the fuck is one of those things doing with my brother’s fucking bracelet?”

“How do you know it’s even his?”

“I just know, alright? I’m the one who bought it for him.”

“Look,” Krista said, “We can’t exactly go down there and interrogate it–we don’t even know if they can speak English. Let’s just keep going–we have to try and find the prisoners anyway–that’s where your brother will be.”

Matt grimaced, and followed Krista for a few paces along the catwalk, but then stopped, looking back at the gator, and for a moment, the gator looked away from it’s machine and locked eyes with Matt, the sight freezing him in place, and Matt knew he couldn’t leave–that gator knew something about his brother, he just knew it. Still, even though the gator had seen him, he didn’t sound an alarm–it just kept minding the workers…but why? “No…No, you go on ahead, I need to follow this fucker,” he said to Krista.

“We can’t split up Matt,” Krista said, “and every second we spend out in the open is risking us getting caught.”

“No…No, I don’t know why, but this is important. Just go on ahead, I’ll catch up.”

“You are so fucking stubborn–”

“I’m not going, Krista, so go find the prisoners, and text me when you do–we’ll figure out how to get out then.”

“But I need your camera. Without evidence, we can’t get anyone to take this seriously–do you know how crazy this is going to sound if we try to report a factory full of lizards?”

Matt just thought for a moment, and then started snapping pictures of the room below. “This is plenty of evidence–go find the prisoners…I’m gonna figure out what this fucking gator did to my brother. I’ll just slow you down anyway.”

Krista could tell that Matt had made up his mind, and with an exasperated sigh hurried off down the catwalk, leaving her partner and his camera behind as she ventured deeper into the factory. She passed several more rooms like the first, filled with gators working at the side of other massive walls of dials and levers, and that was when she realized that all of the rooms were connected to the same, massive contraption. The factory was actually a building housing one massive machine, and she was pacing the side of it, and after another room or two, she heard the screams–human screams–coming from wall only to be suddenly cut off, one after the other, from the inside of the machine the lizards were running. Was it…killing them in there? Each room after that was terrible, the screams continuous and growing louder, and she could hear them coming from the direction she was heading, from what she assumed to be the beginning of the machine. When she reached the final room, and saw the raptors shoving their human prisoners into the gaping maw of the massive device, her legs failed her, and she had to sit down, watching man, woman and child herded into the machine, screaming and shouting for help–but no one could help them, not even her, not this many of them.

This was huge–it was bigger than she could have ever imagined. How long had this been going on? What in the world was this machine even doing to people? Certainly it was killing them…but why this huge machine if all you’re doing is executing them? Was it turning humanity into food? Energy? She had no idea, she didn’t want to have any idea. What in the world could anyone even do about this? People must already know, important people, people who could stop it, there had to be some massive conspiracy behind all of this for it to have even been built in the heart of the city. Matt and her had uncovered something far larger than they could have ever imagined, but she had to do something, she had to. That was when she noticed that she had been spotted.

This room had neither the steam nor the pipes which had hidden her from view in the earlier rooms, and now two of the raptors were heading up a stairwell onto the catwalk. Krista got up and went to run in the opposite direction, only to see that two other raptors were racing up to cut off her escape route. Instead of waiting for all four to converge on her, she charged at the two coming from behind, catching them off guard at the top of the stairs, grabbing the first raptor and hurling him off the catwalk to the ground below. The second, however, rammed into her, slamming her back against the railing and almost toppling her over as well. She fought him off for a few moments, punching and kicking, but by then the other two had caught up with them, and between the three raptors, they pinned her down and dragged her off the catwalk and to the front of the line, all three of them hissing at themselves. She had no idea what they were saying, but they almost sounded…like they were laughing? She didn’t know, but she fought harder as they moved her to the front of the line, flipped a few dials and changed a few settings on the control panels, and then pitched her head first into the gaping maw of the machine.

***

Matt remained on the catwalk for almost an hour, hunkered down, watching his target obsessively, as he moved from station to station. The heat of the room, especially up high in the steam, was getting to Matt, and he was starting to sweat, and he fidgited in place, trying to stay still, but at the same time angry and terrified and desperate to see that gator. Several times, through the zoom lens on his camera, he examined the gator’s bracelet, reaffirming for himself that it really was his brother’s. What in the world was the gator doing with it? He settled down slowly, and off and on, the gator would look up at him on the catwalk, lock eyes with Matt for a moment or two, and grin, before returning to his work, and eventually Matt realized something–he couldn’t move.

It wasn’t that he didn’t want to move, it was that he literally couldn’t. He was stuck in place, and he couldn’t even explain why. The one thing he could move was his eyes, and they could only follow the gator, watch him, waiting for him to look up at him, waiting for another chance to see the gator’s eyes, his beautiful, golden, captivating eyes. They might have looked like shiny mud at first, but each time Matt got another look at them, he could see the gold specks embedded in it’s irises, the smooth curve of it’s vertical pupils, he loved it’s eyes in ways that Matt couldn’t even explain. How long had he been sitting there, his legs going numb, arms limp, eyes focused only on the gator below him? He barely heard the whistle, even though it sounded from a speaker only a few feet away from him, and he watched the gators, exhausted and sweaty, all file away from the machine, replaced by a slew of fresh ones ready for their own shift, and after only a minute of downtime the machine was up and running once again, and Matt’s eyes watched his gator slip away from the crowd leaving the room, climb up the steps to the catwalk, and make its way to where Matt was sitting, frozen, terrified and also somehow eager, and he saw just how huge the gator’s were.

From above, they had just seemed large, but from where he was crouched down, the eight foot tall beast, weighing in at over 500 pounds, stinking of musk and swamp, claws clicking against the metal of the catwalk, towered over him. Matt was scared though, every space in his mind was reserved for the gator’s eyes, following them, enraptured, and the closer the lizard came, the clearer he could hear it, the voice in his head, the voice telling him to stay still, to not move, to watch only him. He knew that voice though, it was Travis’s voice–why was he hearing Travis? And then, the gator came to a stop in front of him, and the voice told Matt to stand up, and this close, mere inches from the gator’s jaws, the hot breath against face, Matt finally realized why. The gator hadn’t done something to his brother.

The gator was his brother.

He had no idea how he could know that, some small cue, some instinctive certainty, some base recognition. His brother recognized him, as well, but Matt could sense his confusion. Matt wasn’t supposed to be here, he wasn’t even supposed to recognize him. The voice was digging around in Matt’s mind now through their locked gaze, trying to figure out their relation, and it saw how Matt had gotten in with Krista, and then bumbled deeper into Matt’s thoughts and memories, looking at remembrances of it’s old self and comparing them to it’s own distant memories and grudges and anger–it’s saw its human body through Matt’s mind’s eye in confusion. The gator broke the gaze finally, the voice leaving Matt’s head, and he stumbled back. Still, after sitting for so long his body wasn’t quite ready to move, and he fell back onto the catwalk, the gator taking a couple of steps back as well, as confused and disturbed as Matt, but also very, very angry–at Matt.

Matt realized now, why the gator hadn’t sounded an alarm or reported him. He had been as curious about Matt as Matt had been towards him. And now that they knew the truth of it, neither one of them knew what to do. “T–Travis?” Matt managed to say, “Travis, what did they do to you?”

The gator took a step back again, shaking it’s head, hissing something but unable to speak, and then it glared at Matt, the anger there freezing Matt in place once more, and Matt felt so much–pain, fear, anger–everything his brother had experienced. Was he blaming him for what had happened? He hadn’t meant for it to happen; how could he have known what their parents would do? He’d just panicked, couldn’t he see that? Matt tried to tell him that he was here to help, that he wanted to save him, but the gator wasn’t listening. Frozen in place once again, the gator turned and walked away, Matt struggling against the paralysis as he watched his brother hurry back down the catwalk and disappear into the complex.

For the next few minutes, Matt tried as hard as he could to break free from the control holding him in place, but by the time the gator returned with a slim, muscular raptor in tow, all Matt could do was wiggle his fingers. The two lizards returned, and the raptor seemed pleased, especially when Travis reached down and started massaging the raptors huge cock until it was rock hard. The raptor went to grab Matt and haul him off, but the gator stopped him, and they had some hissed conversation, Travis seemed to be suggesting something to the raptor, reaching out with one clawed hand to stroke the toned beasts’ hard cock. The raptor seemed…hesitant, and that was when the gator locked eyes with Matt again, and he stood up, stripping off his clothing in a trance, and when he was naked, he bent over and started fingering his ass with two fingers, unable to stop himself from moaning, unable to beat back the voice telling him to make it good, telling him how much he wanted to please these lizards, how much he wanted to be fucked by the raptor’s massive cock.

The display was enough for the raptor to be convinced, and he walked around behind Matt, gripping the man’s fat thighs in his sharp claws, drawing blood as he slid his thick, foot long cock deep into Matt’s hole. He would have screamed if not for the voice muting him, Travis–no, not Travis, Travis would never do this to him. The gator locked eyes with him, convincing him that this is what he wanted–what he needed, but it was more than that. Matt could remember how he had outed Travis to their parents, how they had kicked him out of the house. Matt had felt guilty, he tried to explain himself, his fear, but the gator wasn’t listening, and Matt, suddenly, smelled something amazing. The musk and sweat and filth rolling off the gator’s body–he needed it. He leaned forward, pressing his face into the scaled belly, licking all of it up, the gator grabbing both sides of his face and smearing it all over him, Matt panting in pain as the raptor behind him started plowing him, not even caring, Matt working a bit lower until he was sucking and licking at his gator brother’s cock, hungry for gator cum in all of his holes, or even more than that. The raptor behind him let out a wild hiss, and Matt felt him pump one load of cum into his ass, and just keep on fucking–the sight of his brother’s ass filled with lizard cum was too much for the gator as well, and he came, Matt drinking down all of his load as well.

The gator hissed something at the raptor, and he pulled out his cock for a few moments, letting them reposition Matt so that he was lying on his back on the metal catwalk. The raptor hefted his legs into the air and resumed fucking him, still hard as a rock, the gator looming over Matt, locking eyes with him, the perversions flowing into Matt’s mind at a hectic pace, the hunger, and then the gator let loose a blast of piss, soaking his one time brother’s face, Matt opening his mouth the drink down the strange smelling urine as quickly as he could, and when the gator finished, he turned around, squatted down and sat right on his face, Matt shivering with pleasure from the stink and musk of the gator’s ass, and licked and sucked at the grime, shoving his tongue as deep up his ass as he could, feeling the gator’s fat tail wrap it’s way around his cock and start jacking him off. Matt tried to resist, but it was only seconds before he was cumming, spasming under the gator’s bulk, barely able to breathe but so pleased that he could be serving these lizards. All of them came once more, the raptor flooding cum so deep up Matt’s ass that he couldn’t even hold it all in when he pulled out, Travis cumming once more with Matt’s tongue buried up his hole, and then he made Matt lovingly lick his cock, balls, belly and gunt clean afterwards.

Matt, however, knew that his brother had something else planned for him, he could tell by the tone of the conversation going on between the raptor and the gator. Eventually, the raptor dragged the exhausted and well fucked Matt off in one direction, and he watched the gator go off in another direction, check a few dials and screens on the machine, and then slipped into the machine itself. Matt tried to fight off the lizard dragging him off to the front of the machine, where people were still being filed into the machine, but there was nothing he could do to fight him off. The raptor, however, took Matt to a different portal where no one was waiting, and started manipulating the controls, grinning at Matt before shoving him into the machine, Matt trying to crawl out before the door slammed shut behind him, trapping him inside, doomed to whatever fate his brother had planned for him.

“How about it boy? You wanna have some fun with a daddy tonight?”

The look on the young man’s face said enough that Nick didn’t even hear his cold letdown, just watched the young man walk off and disappear into the throng of the dance floor, and he didn’t even have the energy to scowl. He reached into the pocket of his cutoff jeans and found the small vial he’d purchased months ago, but which he hadn’t had the courage to use yet. A love potion. It probably wouldn’t even work, but it had sounded, from the shopkeeper’s description, that if you used it, there wasn’t any going back for either party.

Still, what was the point of having something like that and not using it? Then again, what right did he have to use it on someone? He had the same angry conversation in his mind every night at the club, and every night he went home alone, and every night he jacked off in his silent apartment, and every day after he’d swear he was going to use it, just get it over with, and he still hadn’t. Fuck, he needed to piss.

He headed back into the bar’s small bathroom–just a single toilet and sink–and took a piss. He pulled out the vial again and looked at the hazy pink in the dull light of the bathroom. Give it to another to drink, and both of you will love the other for the rest of your lives. He was lonely, but was it really worth it? Knowing it was all premised on deceit? Even if it was worth it, he obviously was too much of a chicken shit to use it. Before he could think about it too much, he poured the potion down the toilet and flushed it down with his piss.

The bathroom was occupied for the rest of the night–Nick barricaded himself in with the toilet, and refused to let anyone else use it. The bartender had to break the lock, and even then he had to call the police to pry Nick away from the toilet, kicking and screaming, trying to explain that he loved it, that he needed to be with it, and drag him off to the drunk tank for the night. A somewhat more sober, but very agitated, Nick returned the next day, and after buying the club a brand new toilet, he hauled their old filthy one away back to his apartment, where he stayed for days on the bathroom floor, talking to it, cleaning it with his tongue, feeding it lovingly, finally happy. No longer lonely with his new lover, a love that would never leave him, a love he would keep until he died.

You like the smell of my piss ‘n cum in that toilet, don’t you, boy? Yeah, you probably didn’t smell it right away, but look at how horny it’s got you already. Can’t stop, can you? Don’t worry, I don’t want you to stop, and you obviously don’t want to stop, so why don’t you just keep on jacking off for daddy?

Bet you didn’t even hear me come in here last night, eh? You were pretty damn drunk, I doubt you remember much of anything. Thought you were all alone, waking up, going in to have your morning piss, and now here you are, jacking off, one of your fingers probing that sweet little hole of yours. Yeah boy, you remember me at all? I was at that club last night, watching you, smokin’ my cigar. Here, why don’t you have a taste? Go on–take it easy though, you don’t have the lungs for a full draw yet. Fuck yeah, so fuckin’ hot, watching that smoke billow out that mouth of yours. Give it to me, gonna suck the smoke out of your lungs, boy.

Sweet, fuckin’ sweet. So, how’s that hole of yours? Gettin’ loose? I bet you need something better than all those fingers, eh? How about some daddy dick? The dick I’ve been savin’ for you all night long. Gonna fuck you right here on the toilet boy, over this nasty swill of our piss ‘n cum. Go on, smell it boy, take a deep breath of that funk, our smoke, or piss…just let it relax you back…that’s it.

See that wasn’t so bad. I’m all the way in ya boy, all the way up this hole of yours, and from that load of cum you just sprayed, I think you like it. I have a feeling we’re gonna be spending a lot of time together from now on–you’d like that, wouldn’t you? You can come over to my place, and we can work out together, father and son, getting all pumped and sweaty and musky, plenty of cigar and fuck breaks. Gonna have you stinkin’ and smokin’ like a good muscle jockboy soon enough. Now suck that cigar–daddy needs focus on fuckin’.