Life Coach (Part 3)

What in the world was he doing? He wasn’t some…some fucking faggot! He tried as hard as he could to haul himself off his neighbor’s cock, but the man just grabbed him by his ears and drove deep, feeling Shane choke and gag on his cock.

“Now now, both of us know how much you like this Shane. The more you fight, the harder it will be for you, I promise.”

He tried to snarl a “fuck you,” but it just came out as unintelligible garble. Evan got the gist of it, however, and so he pushed his fingers to Shane’s temples, and the crippling pain wracked it’s way through him again. This time, either he was at least expecting it or it simply wasn’t as severe, because when Evan pulled his fingers away he was still conscious–and no longer gagging. In fact, he found himself so excited to have a cock in his mouth, that his tiny cock immediately let loose a meek pulse of cum into his pants, and he redoubled his efforts to please Evan, just happy to have a cock to serve.

In his mind, part of him was rebelling–he didn’t want to be a cocksucker! But…he couldn’t quite deny that he was a cocksucker, because he’d certainly sucked lots of them, and been fucked plenty of times as well. He’d often offer his clients, for a little extra money under the table, to help take some of the stress off their divorce, by giving them some assistance, and quite a few of them took him up on the offer. He may have also sucked off a few judges and attorneys, in order to get better verdicts for his clients, but that was all part of the job, right? On weekends, while Sandra was taking her numerous lovers, Shane was usually off somewhere, sucking cock through gloryholes or hooking up with random guys online, though that was harder. When someone saw his old, wrinkled, hairy face, not many people wanted to have sex with him–he had much more luck when he stayed anonymous, and with Evan. He loved slipping over here and sucking off his neighbor–he was the best fuck he had right now.

“Get on your hands and knees,” Evan said, and Shane immediately pulled away from his cock, stuck his cigar back in his mouth, and got ready for a fuck. Evan got down behind him, lined up his cock and slipped it in his hole, listening to his slutty neighbor heave a great sigh, “I told you not to fight me on this.”

Shane gasped at the tremendous surge of pleasure, his back arching, “Oh…Oh fuck, why does…does that feel so good?”

“Because you’re a fucking slut now,” Evan said.

“Why…How are you doing this to me? This isn’t fucking possible.”

“Well, you never did let me explain, and I don’t feel like going into it now. Still, I’d be careful disbelieving–after all, if I can’t change you, then that means you must have always been like this, right? Have you always been a desperate, small cocked slut, Shane?”

No–No, he hadn’t…but he…he couldn’t quite remember who he’d been before either, and it was too fucking hard to concentrate with that huge cock in his ass. So much easier just…just focusing on that, on bucking back, feeling his cock dribbling cum on the carpet. He’d…he’d have to lick it up later of course, he didn’t want to make a mess–and he loved cum. Couldn’t let it go to waste, no way, that would be terrible. No! He had to focus, focus on what really mattered! Evan had…had done something to him. He could remember that. He’d made him like this, given him this worthless cock, this…fuck, that felt so good, what he was doing back there! Unable to hold back, through thick clouds of dingy smoke he felt a huge orgasm rip through his entire body, feeling his flabby gut shiver and shake as a miniscule amount of cum flew out of him, and it wasn’t too much longer after that, when Evan filled his hole with a much larger amount of cum, and slipped out of him.

He fought it. He fought, but it was only polite after all. It’s…what a slut like him should do. Still on his hands and knees he backed up and started licking up his own, cum, feeling his ass leaking down the inside of his thigh. “Please…I’m sorry,” he said, tongue still pressed to the carpet, “”I get it! Just…just change me back, please.”

“Oh goodness, I don’t change people back, Shane. Goodness, I don’t change people at all! I’m just a con artist, remember? Why, I don’t understand where you’re getting this delusion of yours–you yourself said you had much too strong of a will to ever be hypnotized, right? So that means, that any power I have over you must be because you want to be weak. Because you like letting people dominate you. But if it makes you feel better, even if I could change you back? I wouldn’t. Because I love having a fat slut like you next door–if you were anyone else, then you wouldn’t get my cum, would you? Now clean the rest of that up and get the fuck out of my house, pig.”

Evan walked off, leaving Shane to finish his work, and then he got back up, and left, lighting a fresh cigar out on the doorstep, trying not to cry. What in the world had happened to his life, suddenly? He walked back over to his house, in time to see Sandra, in the doorway, waving goodbye to Devin as he left, looking fresh faced and happy. He could see the bulge of the young man’s huge cock, and…and fuck, he wanted it. As they passed, he turned to him and said, “I’ll pay…two hundred dollars. Let me suck it, please.”

The man laughed, and kept walking.

“Five hundred, please.”

“Faggot, ask me to suck my cock again, and I’ll pummel your face to the floor.”

“A thousand.”

That, apparently, was enough. However, he had to pay Devin upfront, before he could get a taste of the young man’s cock, and he hated himself for it, but he needed it. he needed it, and he had a feeling he’d be doing anything he could to get it.

Life Coach (Part 2)

Shane woke up the next morning in an unfamiliar bed that, at the same time, felt…right. It was smaller than usual–just a twin bed, in fact. But the room–he recognized the room, for sure. He was back in his house, but he was in a room which he thought had been a guest room, but which his brain was now telling him was…his room. But that couldn’t be right–he slept in the master suite in his house with his wife–but that thought was so embarrassing he felt his cheeks turn red immediately.

He’d never once slept in the same bed as his wife! She had taken one look at his puny cock on their honeymoon, and laughed him onto the couch. He’d never even fucked her once–she’d told him that he wasn’t man enough, and she was right. He had the money, he had the career, he had the confidence out of the house, but in here he was whipped, and he hated it, but there was no getting out of it now. He rolled up in his bed, and looked down at his tiny, half inch cock and raisin sized balls–some part of him unable to believe it, but he’d looked at the same equipment his whole life, why was he finding this so hard this morning?

Even then, the cock was only one piece of a larger problem. He stood up from the bed, and was certain he should be standing taller, but he’d always been short–just shy of five feet five inches–and his flabby body wasn’t doing him any favors either. He’d always found his body disgusting though–all of the hair everywhere–it was almost as thick across his back as it was across his chest. The muttonchops on his face only made his head look fatter and wider–why did he keep them cut all bushy like that anyway? He picked a cigar from the humidor and lit it up, feeling a bit better once he got some smoke in him, and then he got dressed–Sandra demanded that he be dressed at all times in her presence–it lessened the chance that she might have to lay eyes on his disgusting body, as she called it.

She was downstairs in a robe, when he got there. When he entered the kitchen, she informed him that she had a new lover coming over in an hour, and that Shane would have to get the door, because she would be getting ready when he arrived. That small part of him did a double take, but it wasn’t like his wife was willing to forego sex just because her husband’s cock was a microdick. No–she took lovers all the time, as many as she wanted, and…and he let her, because it made her happy, and sometimes he got to watch–provided the man she was making love to was alright with it. He ate some breakfast and read the paper–his lazy Sunday routine–and when the doorbell rang, he got up and answered the door, finding a young man on the other side, wearing little, his massive cock bulging in the front of his jeans.

“Oh, uh, hi–I’m here for Sandra…” the guy said, “Who…are you?”

“Oh, I’m Shane–her husband. Come on in, she’s upstairs getting ready for you.”

“Oookay,” the young man said, “Actually, I think I’m just gonna go…”

“No, please,” Shane said, “Come in! It’s fine, we have an…arrangement.”

He was obviously still skeptical, but he stepped inside anyway. Shane got the young man’s name–Devin–and then led him upstairs, where Sandra was in the master bedroom, nearly naked. “Oh there you are Devin–you’re late. I hate having to wait, you should remember that. Get undressed.”

Devin looked from her to Shane, but he pulled off his tank top, displaying his thick pecs and solid abs, but paused with his jeans. “Is…why is he still here?”

“Oh–Shane here has the tiniest cock I’ve ever seen–he can’t even get inside me. You’ll have to forgive him, he hates asking. Shane–is there something you’d like to ask Devin?”

Shane cleared his throat, somehow feeling even smaller than his new height made him, “Oh, uh, I’d like to…to watch, if that’s alright with you.”

“Wait, seriously?”

“Yes, if you don’t mind. I–I’ll stay out of sight, you won’t know I’m here.”

“Fuck no, you fucking creep, get the fuck out of here!”

Shane blushed red, but did as the young man said, and retreated outside the bedroom door, closing it behind him. There was lots of laughter for a few moments, and then that segued into moans. Shane was left outside the door, smoking one of his cigars–almost sucking on the rough leaf–rubbing his crotch through his pants, feeling his tiny cock stiff like a nipple thinking…thinking about that young man, how big his cock must be, what…what it might feel like. Maybe…maybe he’ll let him watch some other time, maybe he can find out what kinds of things he might like, or give him some money, next time.

Wait–what the fuck was he doing? This wasn’t right, this wasn’t right at all! He wasn’t some…flabby short pushover with a cock small enough for the record books. This–something had happened. Something had changed, but what? He stalked away from the door and back to his room, where he lit a cigar and tried to focus on something beyond the moans of the young man he could hear from down the hallway. What had he done yesterday? There was that new neighbor, and he’d gone over to say hello, but after that things got…hazy, and he couldn’t quite remember anything of the visit at all. Still, something in his gut told him that if he wanted answers, he’d have to go there, and so he left the house and went next door, where he knocked on the door. After a moment, Evan opened the door and looked down at his short neighbor, and smirked. “Well hello Shane, back for another session already? I must say, you look like you’ve made tremendous progress from yesterday. Why don’t you come inside?”

His body, something was wrong with his body. he stepped inside, and before Evan even got the door shut, he was on his knees–waiting. Waiting for Evan to turn around, slowly unzip his fly, his huge cock flopping out, and Shane swallowed it to the hilt.

Ruining Mr. Fisher (Part 5)

That weekend was especially excruciating for Gerard. He’d only managed his energy to Saturday morning, assuming he would finally be free of this horrific cage once he’d delivered his son out to Ned’s trailer in the country. But driving back, he had to pull over and sob for half an hour, groping at his aching, giant cock imprisoned in a tiny meal device, his balls churning and pumping cum out anyway into his slacks, which he would wipe up with his hands and lick off, disgusted but unable to help himself. When he felt this way, the easiest thing was always to lose himself in sex.

He got home in the early afternoon, and immediately changed into his sex gear–the ratty leathers he’d had for years, which had suddenly appeared in his closet one evening after Ned had given him a sudden affinity, and history, with bondage and pain play. He went out, and started cruising. Everyone in the community knew him, of course, and the fast majority had fucked him, whether they’d known it was him or not in the dark. He focused on his service, on drinking cum, on licking bodies clean, and was lucky enough to find a leathered up silver muscle daddy to take him home and beat him for a few hours, to take his mind off his chastity for a while.

Sunday morning was still difficult. He slept late, at least, but then it was the waiting. Ned had said to come back at night, but hadn’t given him a specific time. If he arrived too early…he didn’t want to know what Ned might do. He decided to time it so he’d get to the trailer at seven, spent the day trying to focus on some work he was behind on at the bank but he ended up chain smoking cigars and getting a little tipsy instead, and then got in the car and started the journey back to see what Ned had done with his son. He…felt a lot worse than he’d expected to. Sure, in this new life Ned had made for him, his son hated his guts–and he hated his son in good measure as well–he also could remember how close the two of them had been…before all of this had happened. He couldn’t take it back though, not now. He wondered what Ned might have done to him, searching his own memories, but everything seemed the same as before. Would he even know if Ned had changed him with the medallion? No one else had noticed when he’d been changed, so maybe everything he could remember was normal now.

He pulled up in front of the trailer, and walked up the steps; he could feel a minor rumble as the trailer shook, voices inside moaning. He knocked, and he heard Ned’s voice shout, “Git in here!” Inside, the lights were dim. Ned was on the bed, soaked with sweat, Shawn was in front of him, clutching the head of the bed as Ned hammered his cock deep into his hole. The entire trailer reeked of sweat, cum, and smoke. “I’m almost done bitch, git a cigar lit, sit down, and watch me plow yer boy’s hole. You like Master Ned plowin’ your hole, right boy?”

“F-Fuck, fuck yeah…” Shawn moaned, “Harder sir…”

“Boy loves it, just like his fucking father. You want another raw load in your boy hole?”

“Yes, please…”

“Alright boy, here it comes–” Ned said, fucked a few deep thrusts, and came with a load moan, slamming Shawn up against the side of the trailer. “Bitch, be a good pig. Clean out your boy’s hole, and suck a load from him–he’s been very good, and he deserves a reward.”

Gerard couldn’t resist the order, and as soon as Ned pulled out, he had his face pressed to his son’s hole, tongue buried deep, lapping his master’s fresh cum from the hole, then flipped Shawn over and swallowed his cock to the hilt, his boy moaning. Ned had a clear view of Shawn’s chest now, and saw no mark of the medallion, like on him. Ned hadn’t done anything to him yet, but why?

Ned got off the bed and slouched in a broken in armchair, watching the father suck down his first load from his boy’s cock, medallion swinging from his fingers. “I haven’t changed him yet, as you probably noticed. Been waitin’ for you. Just wanted to break him in a bit, for fun.”

He didn’t speak for a few minutes. Shawn was getting close, and he finally let loose with a long groan, Gerard swallowing everything down like a good pig, enjoying the taste of his son’s cum. It…it reminded him strangely of his own. He pulled away and wiped his bearded face, looking away from Shawn lying and sighing and panting on the bed, unable to believe what he’d just done, without even questioning it. Ned chuckled behind him, stood up, and walked over to him.

“Been thinking about it though, what I should do tah him. Tah ya both. Course, yer boy’s an ass, but he ain’t that much of an ass. ‘Sides, all he can think about now is gettin’ cum in his hole. Still, yer his father, I thought it should be up tah ya, what happens tah him.”

“What…what do you mean?”

“I mean, I’m givin’ ya a choice, bitch. Two options. First, I let yer boy go. He’ll love cock, sure, but he’ll still have this cushy life a his. You though, yer gonna have tah give up yer job, if you want yer son tah be happy. Give up yer past. That’s the trade–your cushy office job, that college education, all that money a yers–all that fer yer son’s future. But if all that matters more tah ya than him, ya can take option two. I won’t change you, but I will change yer boy–ya won’ even recognize him when we’re through with him. Gotta say, he’s got a great life ahead a him–the medallion tells me…things, ya see. Great man. Shame tah waste it, but it’s yer call, bitch.”

“I–I can’t, I mean…” Gerard lost his words.

“Thirty seconds. If ya don’t give me an answer, I’ll just change ya both.”

Gerard stared at his son. He…he couldn’t do that to him, could he? But his job, it was the last thing of his, the last place where…where he still felt like he could be something, where he could be the person he’d always thought he was.

“Ten seconds. Better hurry…”

Fuck, he was a fucking horrible person. “Two. Number two. I…I don’t care what you do to him, I need my job.”

Ned just stared at him, and shook his head.

“It’s–It’s all I have left. You’ve fucking taken everything else from me, you fucker!”

Ned shook his head, “Sorry boy, but yer father sure is a bastard, ain’t he?” Ned said, and climbed on top of Shawn’s prone body.

“Wait…sir, what are you talking about? I don’t–”

“Don’t worry, it’ll all be better soon,” Ned said, and pressed the medallion to Shawn’s breast, Gerard turning away from the blinding flash of light.

Ruining Mr. Fisher (Part 4)

“But dad, I had plans this weekend already! I don’t understand why I needed to come meet some fucking buddy of yours anyway, I could care less,” Shawn said, slouching down a bit further in the passenger seat of his dad’s luxury sedan. “Where in the hell does this guy live, anyway? We’re in the middle of nowhere. I thought you said he was a coworker of yours.”

“He is–he works at the same company as me,” Gerard, Shawn’s father, said. It wasn’t technically a lie. He did work with Ned…sort of. More accurately, Ned had made his life a living hell for the last half of a year. The anticipation of having his cock unlocked however was too exciting, and Gerard felt more cum ooze from his massive balls into his damp crotch.

“Dad…are you alright?” Shawn had noticed his father’s knuckles were white, they were clenching the steering wheel so tight. “This isn’t some nasty boyfriend of yours or something is it? You know I don’t want to meet any of your faggot friends.”

“I’m fine. He’s not…we’re not together, no. He’s just a friend. You’ll…you’ll like him, I promise. He just likes living out in the country, is all.”

“He makes this commute everyday?”

“Yep.”

Shawn was seventeen, and currently attended an elite private school his father paid for. He only saw his massively obese, disgusting faggot father one weekend a month, but that was almost too much for him. He hated his father’s guts, to be honest–he couldn’t believe he was his father actually, this obese fat worthless fuck. Still, he’d insisted Shawn come with him, or he’d tell his ex-wife about those…photos Shawn had on his computer. Finally, after almost forty-five minutes on the road, they pulled into a gravel drive, and pulled up in front of a mobile home. Shawn took one look at the ramshackle single wide, and turned to his dad in disbelief. “Here? This guy lives here?”

“Come on, I’ll introduce you,” Gerard said, and got out of the car, sounding a bit stressed, but Shawn didn’t even unbuckle his seatbelt.

“No–I’m not…this is fucking dumb. Take me home, I don’t care what you tell mom.”

“Come on son, this is important,” Gerard said, and opened the passenger door. “Just…just do this for me, please?”

Shawn just looked up at him, and said, “No.” That one word had settled enough arguments for him in the past with his parents, but just to be cautious, he added, “No, and if you don’t drive me home this instant I’m going to tell mom about this, and her lawyers are going to have a field day. It won’t matter what you tell her, because you’ll never fucking see me again.”

Gerard let out a noise of frustration, and stormed away from the car, “You’re such a spoiled brat!” he shouted, “Just get out of the fucking car.”

The door to the trailer swung open, and silhouetted in the door was a massively fat figure, and some obese redneck tromped down the stairs, “Ya bring ‘em, bitch?”

“Y-Yes sir, he’s in the car, but he won’t get out.”

“Heh, I got it, since a bitch like you can’t control a fuckin’ boy.”

Ned lumbered over the the car door, and Shawn closed it before the fatass could get there, but the guy didn’t seem to care, he just leaned against the glass, with something shiny swinging from his fingers. What…what was that? Some medallion or something? Shawn found himself obsessed with it, unable to look away, unable to do much of anything, actually. Without really knowing why, he opened the car door again, undid his seatbelt and got out of the car, all without removing his eyes from the shiny thing still swinging in front of his face. Distantly, he was aware of the redneck running his chubby hands all over his body, even down the front of his pants, feeling his cock and balls in his underwear, before turning away from him and walking back towards his dad–without the medallion in his eyes, he felt his mind leap forward, and he tried to shout…but he couldn’t do anything. He couldn’t move, he couldn’t speak, all he could do was stand there like a statue, listening to the redneck talk to his dad.

“Look…I brought him like…like you told me to. Would you please unlock it sir? I…I can’t fucking sleep, it hurts so much.”

“No bitch, It stays locked.”

“But you said–”

“I keep the boy fer the weekend. Come back Sunday night, eight o’clock to pick ‘em up. Then ya git some time out a there. Now drop yer pants, I got a load fer yer ass.”

They didn’t move out of Shawn’s eye sight, and he couldn’t close them, as he watched his dad drop his pants and lean up against the side of the trailer, while the redneck dropped his own pants and with some adjusting of his own fat apron shoved his cock in his father’s ass…and…and it looked like Gerard was enjoying it. It sounded like it too, and he kept begging the redneck to unlock it, to let him shoot. The redneck finished, and when his dad turned around, he saw his father’s cock was…encased in some metal thing, like a cage, but then he had his slacks pulled up again. Without looking at his son, Gerard walked around to the car, got in, and drove away, trying not to think about what he’d just done, and the redneck came around beside Shawn.

“Name’s Ned, boy, but ya don’ git tah call me that. Ya jus’ git tah call me master. Now git in there, ‘n let’s see if yer hole’s as tight as yer bitch father’s was.”

Ruining Mr. Fisher (Part 3)

Needless to say, Gerard began staying late much more often at the office. In fact, he found it impossible to leave until Ned had come through to clean the office, and to find some new way to bring the banker down a few more pegs at a time. It was the very next night that Ned made the banker strip naked in his presence–the fat redneck gave him a hand job and then as soon as Gerard’s cock softened again, forced his cock into a metal cage, and locked it with a padlock. It was a tight fit–immediately Gerard’s cock tried to get hard again, and the pain was excruciating, but he didn’t have a choice in the matter. Ned said he needed to be punished for cumming without permission, and so the cage would stay on until he felt Gerard had earned an orgasm for himself.

Gerard never earned an orgasm, not in the next several months. Most nights, Ned would simply come by the office, looking more and more filthy and disheveled and slobby each day, force Gerard to serve him in any number of ways, and then leave him again. At first, Gerard would do his best to not do anything to make Ned change him further–he was agreeable and wouldd serve him as required…and in some ways he kind of enjoyed it. He’d already found himself making time for himself throughout the day to slip away from the office for an hour or two, so he could go to the porn theaters and shops downtown and suck a few loads from strangers when he got hungry. On the weekends, he would spend the entire afternoon and evening there, drinking cum like a fiend, praying his wife wouldn’t figure out why he was suddenly completely uninterested in having sex with her–not that they’d had sex much at all, in this new life of his. Still, Gerard could only take so much humiliation, and from time to time, Ned’s picking and goading would work. Gerard would start resisting–would yell and scream and swear and try to punch and anything to get back at Ned for ruining his life, and Ned would use his outbursts as excuses to press the medallion to his heart again, and ruin his life bit by bit.

The second week, during his first outburst, Gerard made the mistake of ridiculing Ned for his size and fat body–so Ned shifted his life until Ned himself was a binge eater. His waist exploded in size immediately, and Gerard kept hoping it would stop, as he looked down at himself, but it just kept going, stopping only when he was over four hundred pounds. Not quite as large as Ned, but still, that shut him up. He hated it though–he was hungry constantly, and found that he had to have a snack with him at all times, or he couldn’t function, and the only place he could go for lunch and feel full were all you can eat buffets. After two weeks he broke down, begging Ned to let him stop eating for a bit. Ned took a kind of pity on him. Gerard didn’t stop eating by any means, but suddenly he loved the feeling of his fat body, and found himself fantasizing about becoming even larger. Eating became a challenge, to see how much he could stuff in his face each day, and even though he was disgusted with himself, he couldn’t stop. Worse, the fuller his belly the more turned on he got, but his cock, trapped in a cage, couldn’t be satisfied. Instead, he just ate more and more, driven into a sexual feeding frenzy–usually capping off his meals with at least ten loads of cum from strangers at the bathhouse.

The situation with his wife and son was becoming unbearable however–whenever he was home, it seemed like they were fighting. Two months after Ned first seized control of him, he broke down in tears, on his knees in front of the redneck, begging him for mercy, desperate to keep his family together. The redneck just laughed at him, pressed the medallion to Gerard’s chest, and when it pulled away, he didn’t have to worry about his wife anymore, since he’d been divorced for years. Ned consoled him as he sobbed, reminding him that now he lots more time to spend stuffing his face and sucking cock, without have to worry about hiding it from his bitch of an ex-wife. He still saw his son on occasion–one weekend a month. Shawn hated his father’s faggot guts however, and refused to spend any quality time with him at all, even when he did have a moment of custody.

Still, Ned helped him settle in a comfortable, bachelor lifestyle. Ned gave him a ten cigar a day smoking habit, and made him an alcoholic–helped him realize how silly it was taking a shower every day–or more than once a week. After six months, Gerard was a completely different person–close to over 450 pounds, reeking of sweat, smoke and booze, ill fitting and often unwashed clothing, crusty with food and cum. He’d gone from being the star of the company in a corner office to a low level manager barely hanging onto his job–but he hung on all the same. It was, really, the last bit of himself that he had left.

Then, one night, Ned told him that he’d finally thought of a way for Gerard to earn an orgasm for himself. All he had to do was, when the next weekend came that his son Shawn was staying with him, bring his son out to the trailer where Ned lived in the country, and give him to Ned. If Gerard brought him his only son, then he could get the chance to shoot his first load in months. Gerard refused, at first, until Ned pressed the medallion to a new spot on his body, right over his cock, inflating his genitals to massive proprotions. His cock, which ached already, was suddenly in constant pain in it’s enclosure, and his cum production was so constant that even in his cage he leaked constantly. The pain was too much to bear, and so Gerard agreed–he’d bring Ned his son, for a chance to be free of this pain. He couldn’t believe what he was about to do, but what choice did he have? He couldn’t live like this, and…and it wasn’t like Shawn loved him anyway. In fact, he kind of hated his son, hated the way he looked at him. If he could get a little comfort, then Shawn was a sacrifice Gerard was willing to make.

Ruining Mr. Fisher (Part 2)

He gagged, and nearly threw up at the vile taste of the janitor’s unwashed cock, as the man shoved it down his throat. What…what in the hell was he doing? He was straight! He’d never had a faggot thought in his life, and suddenly some strange, filthy janitor was in his office, with his crusty gut shoved against his face, cock down his throat? Gerard kept trying to will the rest of his body into action, but it was like the rest of his body had gone limp as soon as that medallion had started swinging in front of his face, like he was fucking hypnotized or something.

Ned laughed, enjoying the feeling of his victim’s throat gagging around his cock as he thrust deep, grinding the banker’s face into his pubes as his filthy hands ran through way through the man’s perfectly combed hair, over his head, down his neck and under his clothes, stripping back his coat, unbuttoning his crisp shirt and pulling it away from his body, and finally he gripped the man’s undershirt in both hands and ripped it apart, revealing the man’s smooth, waxed chest. “Alright Mr. Fisher, now we git tah the good part. I haven’t done this with anyone else yet, so we’ll be learning together, but I knew ya had tah be mah first.”

The medallion stopped swinging, and suddenly he felt the paralysis lift somewhat from his body. He yanked his face away from the man’s crotch, trying not to throw up, spitting on the carpet. “You disgusting–I’m going to sue you for what little shit you have in this world, and make sure you spend the rest of your life getting raped in prison.”

“Nah, I don’ think so,” Ned said, palming Mr. Fisher’s head in his hand and shoving him back, giving him a clear view of his chest, the other hand holding the medallion, “Let’s see what ya think ‘bout that in a second,” He he pressed the medallion to Gerard’s chest, over his heart.

The gold turned a searing white against his skin, and Gerard screamed, but the pain was as much mental as it was physical. It was like his entire life was suddenly before him, like a huge stone bridge behind him, well constructed and maintained the whole way across, until the entire landscape started shaking, like some massive earthquake. And he watched his life crumble away behind him, and there was nothing he could do. In a matter of moments, the bridge was still there but there were holes, broken cables, missing guardrails, and just as quickly as he’d seen it, it was over–he was in his chair, gasping for breath, clutching his chest. He looked down and found a dark red mark exactly where the medallion had been on his pec–or what had been a pec moments before.

He looked down at his body, and his perfect, gym toned body was no more–he was by no means fat–certainly not as large as Ned by any stretch of the imagination, but he had a flabby gut which showed the fact that he spent his time in an office, coated with a thick layer of hair. He’d…he’d always hated how much body hair he had, and he’d waxed it for years…hadn’t he? But now…now he couldn’t remember doing any of that. He’d thought about it, sure, but it had seemed like so much effort. Same with his hair, which was balding a bit and turning grey. He could fix it up, he supposed, but that would just take so much energy…He got up from his chair and went to the mirror hanging in his office, looking at his pudgy, sloppy self, his messy hair, his stubble coated face, his gut, and he was disgusted with himself, and yet…and yet he…he liked that disgust. His cock was getting hard, why in the fuck was this turning him on?

“A good first step,” Ned said, “We’ll go down further later, but for now, why don’t you get down and finish what you’d started, bitch.”

He fought–but his body simply obeyed. He got down on his knees and went back to sucking the janitor’s cock–and it was still disgusting, but now…now he kind of liked it. He liked the idea that he was debasing himself like this. This filthy slob–this fat failure of a man–it was, suddenly, everything Gerard had imagined, some deep fantasy that had been locked away inside him, but suddenly it was out, and he…he liked it. He liked serving this man, and he happily sucked at the man’s cock, hauling his own dick free from his now ill-fitting suit pants and started jacking off–realizing only after it had started that he’d sprayed a load of cum across the carpet of his office.

“You fucker–you don’t get to fucking cum without my fucking permission!” Ned growled, the medallion in his hand, “You wanna see what this fucking thing can do to you? You want a reason to get this carpet filthy?”

Ned pressed the medallion to the mark over Gerard’s heart, and it was like it…sunk into his body, like a gear into some strange machine of his body. The heat was there again, but now…now it didn’t burn, now it was almost…pleasant, feeling the heat scorch away bits and pieces of his life, forgetting some things and remembering others. Ned pulled the medallion back, and Gerard redoubled his efforts, suddenly remembering all of the hundreds of cocks he’d sucked in glory holes behind his wife’s back all these years, hungry for cum more than anything else, his gut ballooning in size yet again. Ned finally came down his throat, and as soon as he’d finished, Gerard got down and started eating his own cum from the floor–and Ned laughed, and excused himself–reminding Gerard to keep on working late every night, so they could keep having these nice meetings.

Requested by Anonymous

Something strange had been happening around Wellsprings Senior Living Center lately, where Burt was a resident. He hadn’t thought much of it at first, when the first couple of his friends suddenly traded their golf polos and khakis for leather jackets, harnesses and rubber. It had been…different, sure, but for some reason it hadn’t alarmed him–even when these happily married men–some for fifty years–announced they had kicked their wives out and were divorcing them. Then, when he’d gotten the knock on his door that evening, and been greeted by a flash from that strange gun Mr. Lingleton had in his gloved hand, everything made more sense.

Burt had a bit of a secret, you see–he’d lost consistent control of his bladder a few years back, and had been wearing diapers ever since he’d gotten tired of wetting himself on accident. He hadn’t let anyone know–he had always been so embarrassed by his lack of self-control–but he didn’t have to worry about that now. He fell to his knees in his rubber waders, his cock spewing a massive load of piss across the carpet at the threshold of his apartment, as Mr. Lingleton hauled out his cock and showered Burt with piss from head to toe, and then left the old man to suck whatever he could from the carpet, before retreating back inside.

From that day on, he simply pissed wherever he stood–often while wearing his yellow rubber chest waders–and when he got back to his apartment he’d drink all it down–adding it to all the other piss he’d been drinking from the men who lived in the complex all day long. He’d been a bit worried when his son and grandson came to visit a couple of weeks later, but once they were in his apartment, both of them began changing as well. His grandson lost control of himself as well, almost immediately, and his father wasted no time forcing the protesting boy into his grandfather’s diapers, disciplining him sternly when he tried to run and get help. Burt just watched his middle aged son grow and expand into a massive, heavily tattooed leather daddy bear–and once his grandson was pacified and diapered like a good baby bear, his son bent Burt over the sofa and gave him a proper plowing–and afterwards gave his father a load of piss to share with his grandson.

Arctos Monthly (Part 1)

I was in the mailroom, and saw the slip telling me that I’d received a package. My first thought was that it was probably another care package sent by my mom–even though I’d just gotten back from spring break a few days earlier. It was a bit embarrassing, but I know I wasn’t the only freshman suffering under parents with empty nest syndrome. However, when I picked up the package it quite large and heavy–at least the size of a small moving box–and wasn’t from my parents at all. With the labels printed out, it looked more like a package from Amazon or something, but I hadn’t ordered anything recently that I could remember. Checking the return address, all I saw was the name of some company I’d never heard of: Arctos Industries.

Still, who wouldn’t be a bit curious? I could have refused it, but I took it back to my room. where I got my scissors from my desk and broke open the tape of the box, opened it up, and found a card on top–I kept it all this time, actually–hold on, I can just read it to you:

Hello Bryan,

We here at Arctos Industries are beginning a new monthly subscription program called Arctos Monthly! Each month, subscribers will receive one box full of our signature clothing and other wares, and we have chosen you to be a part of our launch! If you’ve never heard of us, don’t worry–we’re testing this fabulous new program in both current and future market areas. In this pilot program, you will receive a three month trial subscription to Arctos Monthly, free of charge, and your first shipment of our products will have arrived with this card. We hope you’ll try the outfit on–don’t worry if it doesn’t seem like your usual style, or if there are possible fit issues. Our signature Customerization Process (patent pending) guarantees your satisfaction with our products.

Also as a part of our launch, we are so certain that you will be thrilled with our products that we will provide you with three free referral codes for your friends. Simply go to the website listed below, log in with the information provided, and enter their full name and address, and they too will receive their own three month trial subscription to Arctos Monthly at no charge to you or them, because we know our products are at their best when shared! The referrals never expire, so feel free to wait and see what Arctos can do for you, before deciding who you’d like to refer.

Yours in Brother Bearhood,

Harvey Whitlock

Vice President of Marketing, Arctos Industries

Now that’s all very strange, of course, and I had no idea what to make of the note at the time, but hey, I was a poor college student, and I’d recently discovered how easy it is to take for granted the fact that, when you’re younger, your parents buy you all the clothes you want and need. As an adult it’s not so easy. Even if they weren’t my style, a few extra pants and shirts wouldn’t hurt, right? I threw the card on my desk and pulled out the clothing inside the box–and I was a bit dismayed.

It wasn’t really my style at all, and it looked like it was way, way too big. There were a couple flannel shirts, some XXL tees with the Arctos label across the front and back, Some jeans with a size 46 waist, a trio of jockstraps in white black and red, wool work socks, size 14 boots–and a pipe with a bag of loose leaf tobacco. That last part, especially, freaked me out a bit, after all, who in the hell would send some strange smoking supplies? Still, the clothes…they smelled really good, ok? That’s weird, but I wanted to try them on anyway. Andy, my roommate, was gone–I figured I could put them on, take a silly selfie, and then figure out how to return them for something more my size and style. I put them on as best I could–nothing fit right–hell, I even stuck the unlit pipe in my mouth, held up my phone and took a selfie…but the picture…well, let’s just say I didn’t recognize myself when I looked at the photo.

There, on the screen of my phone, was a big, hulking, muscular man–thick pecs, a decent sized gut pushing out the t-shirt he had on, a thick beard on his face and his hair cut in a high-and-tight, a pipe trailing wisps of smoke into the air. Needless to say, I was a bit freaked out–and then I looked in the mirror, and I really freaked out. It was me. I was the big muscle bear in that selfie, looking like a lumberjack, smoking a pipe I couldn’t remember lighting. I told myself it couldn’t be real, I stripped off the clothes, but my body didn’t change back–and oddly enough, the more I saw of myself…the more I liked it. In fact, I ended up jacking my eight inch cock off, rubbing my very furry gut and chest, smoking the whole while like I’d been doing it for years, shocked at…at how turned on this body was making me, but I found these strange thoughts entering my head. I’d always liked bears, hadn’t I? I tried to tell myself that I was straight, but I couldn’t believe it when I tried to think it. Hell, after I came I tried to think back to how I’d used to look, and I couldn’t remember anything–and then the door opened and Andy stepped in.

I tried to explain–he just blocked his eyes and told me to get some clothes on and put the pipe out before the RA yelled at me again…like I’d always had this body. I pulled on the clothes I’d just taken off and apologized–Andy did his best to take it in stride, and somehow I got the feeling that this hadn’t been the first time he’d walked in on me naked, looking like this. I spent the rest of the evening searching for some…evidence of my old self, but found nothing. All the clothes in my closet? Gone–replaced by various clothing I’d just received in the package. Pictures on Instagram and Facebook? They all looked like this new face, all in situations I could remember…aside from a few big, brawny men I couldn’t remember meeting, but who I could remember…well, fucking. I ended up just…staring at the card from Arctos, reading it over and over, wondering what in the world the next few months would have in store for me…and I looked over at Andy working on one of his papers, feeling my cock suddenly stir…and knew just who would be getting my first referral.

Max Meets Junior – Part 1 (Patreon Commission)

Max was already not having a very good day. He’d hit the snooze button one too many times, and finally managed to roll out of bed and find his way into his apartment kitchen to try and cobble together some breakfast for himself. He didn’t exactly have time for much, not if he didn’t want to be late to the office, and with how Mr. Carson was feeling about him stalling on his decision, being late wasn’t going to be an option for him. He popped some bread in the toaster, and while it cooked he tried to found his shoes, tied his tie. The toast was too light; he put it down for another round. He scrounged together the papers covering the ikea coffee table he’d bought off Craigslist, and smelled something burning–now it was overdone. He slathered it with some butter and started checked to make sure he had everything, when his stepson came around the corner, muscular arms stretched and flexed high as he yawned.

Wait–Stepson?

“Fuck daddy, did you have to burn the house down?”

He didn’t have a stepson. Hell, he’d never even been married before. He worked too much to date–and he was gay anyway. The young man dropped his arms, scratching his bare abs. Fuck, he was built, and didn’t mind showing it off, obviously. He was only wearing a pair of skimpy briefs which were cut a bit small, and were colored an electric blue. Max took a bite of toast, his eyes fixed on his stepson’s cock outlined in his underwear…what had he been thinking about again?

“I hope my breakfast isn’t that burnt like that.”

Max shook his head, “What? I didn’t make anything for you.”

“What do you mean you didn’t make me anything?” he pouted, “You always make me breakfast, daddy.”

“Look…” He drew a blank, trying to conjure his stepson’s name. That was odd, right? Wasn’t…wasn’t all of this odd? He didn’t remember this young man at all. He stared harder, trying to find a name, find anything in his memory that could tell him who this young man was, what he was doing in his apartment, why…why his eyes were so blue, like fucking crystal, and whenever he cocked his head to the side like that and smirked, fuck his cock got hard. He could feel it tenting in his suit pants–his stepson’s eyes broke away from his, flashed down to his crotch and back up. Max blushed and looked away. What had he even been getting ready to say? Breakfast, they’d been talking about breakfast, right? “Look, let me see what…what we have.” He set his toast down on the counter and walked over to the pantry. “There’s cereal, why don’t you just pour yourself a bowl?”

“But I want something…hotter than that.”

“Oatmeal?”

“Something…meatier, I think…”

Max looked over at him, but his stepson’s eyes were on his body, and a wave of heat shot through him. What was he doing? Was…was he hitting on him? Why…why didn’t that bother him more than he imagined it should? “Meat….meat, right…well,” he hurried over to the fridge and started looking around inside, “I have bacon.”

“No sausage?”

“N-No…no sausage this morning.”

His stepson let out a long sigh, “Fine, I guess I’ll just have some bacon and eggs then.”

Max pulled the carton of eggs from the fridge along with the pack of bacon and set them on the counter, got out a couple of pans and started heating them on the stove, when he remembered he was still late for work. “Shit!” he said, “Look…uh….look, I’m going to be late for work, I can’t make this for you, I’m sure you can…can…uhh…” Max had turned around and discovered his stepson had moved from the doorway to the kitchen and taken a seat at the small table in the nook, facing Max at the stove. His legs were spread wide, giving him a clear shot of his thick, muscular thighs and that big bulge again. Hiss stepson wasn’t looking at him, however, and he ran one hand across one pec and down his firm abs before cupping his bulging crotch in one hand and giving it a squeeze, Max’s own cock spasming as it did, spurting out a bit of precum into his underwear. He turned around quickly, hoping his stepson hadn’t noticed, and laid out the bacon in the pan, focusing on it for a few minutes, though he did risk the occasional peek over his shoulder at the young man behind him, though whether it was out of fear or allure he couldn’t quite tell–or be honest with himself.

“Don’t make the bacon too crispy–I want it to have some bite.”

“Sure.”

“And I want the eggs medium well. Like…when you break them with a fork, it should ooze out like…like…like cum from a daddy’s cock.”

Max whirled around, “What did you say?”

He didn’t reply, he just kept massaging his crotch, and Max whirled back around, blushing hard.

The bacon was done–he cooked the eggs in the grease left behind and served them to his stepson on a plate. “Thanks daddy, you’re the best.”

“Oh, I mean, you’re welcome…” he still didn’t have a name for him, why couldn’t he think of his own stepson’s name! He stared at him, trying to remember, trying to piece this together again, but his eyes got lost in his stepson’s arms as he ate, moving egg and bacon to his mouth, those lips, big lips, and now he wished he’d had some sausage, wished he could see those lips wrapped around something thick, wrapped around his cock. This wasn’t right, this wasn’t normal. “You…you know, this is going to sound very odd, but…but somehow I forgot your name.”

His stepson smirked, “Ah, names. What’s in a name, really? Such a bother, really. Why don’t you just call me Junior, alright daddy? Now, shouldn’t you be getting to work?”

Fuck.

He looked at the clock–he’d wasted half an hour making Junior breakfast, and now he definitely was going to be late. He hurried to gather the rest of his things and head for the door, but Junior called to him, “Wait daddy! You can’t leave without giving me a kiss, right?”

A bit exasperated, he walked over to where Junior was finishing his breakfast, intending to just give him a peck on the cheek, but his stepson pushed his face back towards his and locked lips with him. It was electric, Junior slipping his tongue into Max’s mouth, shocking him, and yet…and yet…he pushed back, shoving his tongue into his stepson, invading him tasting him. He realized he was moaning, his hard cock pressed against Junior’s side, but he didn’t care. Finally, Junior pushed him away gently, Max licking his lips. “I’ll see you when you get home, daddy. I love you.”

“I…I love you too…” Max said, backed away, and then rushed for the door, opening it and slamming it behind him before Junior could say anything else, and took a moment to breathe. What had he just done? No one kisses their stepson like that! But fuck, if he could still feel his thick lips, fuck if he couldn’t imagine what they’d feel like wrapped around his cock. How…how old was Junior, anyway? Something in the way he’d kissed gave him the idea that he was old enough. And…and its not like they were family anyway, right?

No. A Thousand times no.

He hurried to his car and drove to the office, and even though he was half an hour late, he couldn’t go in like this. His cock had been hard for the whole commute, and his pants were too tight to hide it. He couldn’t let people see this, right? So he jacked off in his car–it was the only reasonable thing to do, right? He jacked off, and he fantasized about his stepson, about junior, about peeling off that blue underwear, about tasting his young cock, about shoving him to his knees grabbing that blonde hair of his in his fist and shoving his cock down his young throat, fucking, fucking fuck–

He shot into a napkin he’d managed to find in the center console, mopped himself up as best he could, and then hurried into his office. He didn’t know what he was going to do about Junior–and he passed off his lateness as his alarm not going off properly. But still, as the day wore on, the horniness didn’t ever abate. All he could think about was his stepson, as he slipped away to the bathroom more than once to relieve some of the tension. When the day was over, he didn’t know what to feel. Terror? Excitement? Arousal? He drove home with all three swirling in his gut together, climbed the steps to his apartment, and paused outside. He couldn’t do this. He should call the police, report an intruder…but he wasn’t an intruder, was he? He didn’t even know anymore, all he wanted was those lips, to feel those soft lips against is, to taste his tongue again, and his shaking hand managed to force the key into the lock, and he pushed it in.

His stepson was waiting just inside the door, still in his underwear. Had he done anything today? Gone to school? Watched TV? Or had he just stood there, at the door, waiting? They shared another kiss, longer than the one they had that morning, and his worries all faded and ebbed away, sucked out of him by Junior. “So daddy, what’s for dinner?” he said, wrapping one hand in Max’s tie, holding him close, “I hope its steak or something, because I’m still in the mood for meat.”

The Fall of Troy – Part 1

For the life of him, Troy could never figure out why his mother had decided to marry Leo. It wasn’t that he was bad at her for divorcing his dad–he’d been as lousy a father as he’d been a husband, fucking plenty of women behind her back. But why couldn’t she see that Leo was just as terrible a guy, if not worse? Hell, at least his real dad could hold down a job–Leo couldn’t even manage that. All he did was lounge around the house, usually shirtless, his big gut hanging out, eating snacks, drinking beer and watching TV. And his mom just…accepted it. She was even working overtime at the firm to make extra money to cover expenses…but it was so strange. He tried to talk to her about Leo, but every time he did, she just got this…glazed over look in her eyes, like she wasn’t even listening. And she’d even had the nerve to ask him to find a part-time job after school to help pay for expenses! He couldn’t wait to graduate and head for college, just to get out of this crazy house.

Then, out of the blue, she left for an entire three day weekend–a girl’s weekend in Vegas that she hadn’t even mentioned to Troy, leaving him alone with Leo. Upset beyond words, he holed himself up in his room in the basement all Friday afternoon, just avoiding Leo as best he could, when there was a knock on his door. He didn’t answer it. Leo just opened the door, and he sighed, “What, Leo.”

“We’ve talked about this, Troy. I’d really appreciate it if you’d call me dad.”

“You’re not my dad. What do you want?”

Leo sighed, “Look, I know you don’t like me, I get it. But look, can we just try to…at least live together? Why don’t you come up and watch a movie with me or something? You can even have a beer, if you want. I won’t tell your mom.”

Troy looked back at him, suspicious, “You’ve never wanted to do something like that with me before.”

“I know I’m not always the nicest guy, but least come hang out for a bit. Two hours, one movie, have a beer, and I won’t bug you for the rest of the weekend if you don’t want me to.”

“I have schoolwork to do.”

Leo gave a heavy sigh, “Look…I’m trying my best, you know? But if you can’t even meet me halfway…No, you know what? It’s fine, really.” He turned and left, plodding downstairs.

Troy was happy he was gone, but the guilt still ate away at him, and he couldn’t even concentrate on his school work. After a couple of minutes, he grumbled a quiet “Fine…” to himself, stood up, and followed his step dad upstairs. “Leo? Look, I’ll watch a movie with you, if it means that much…” but that was as far as he got before he rounded the corner, and locked eyes with his stepdad, who was standing behind the couch…but his eyes, they were…black. Pitch black. And he couldn’t look away, but he felt something in his mind, he felt something happening to him. But before he could quite figure out what, Leo blinked. His eyes were back to normal, and Troy was left trying to figure out what had just happened to him.

“You know, on second thought, why don’t you enjoy some alone time, eh Troy?” Leo said, and walked around the couch, to his stepson. Leo wanted to run, but not…not really. More than that, he wanted to…watch a movie and…and relax. Yeah, take a load off, relax. Drink a beer and just…just…be for a while. Leo stopped in front of him, smiling, “I left you some of your favorite things on the coffee table–make sure you play with them all, son.”

Troy nodded, and then he lumbered past Leo and plopped down on the couch. The movie was already playing, and for a few minutes he watched some massively fat man, covered with hair, being fucked roughly by some massive, muscular, hairy man. He let out a moan, and stripped off his shorts and shirt, and he looked at the favorite things of his Leo had left for him on the table: a twenty-four pack of beer; eight or nine short, fat cigars with a zippo lighter beside them; piles and piles of snacks and candy; and one, massive, flesh colored dildo.

He wanted to scream. He wanted to run out the front door. What he did instead was sit up, grab a beer from the case, pop it open, and chug it. Then, he took a moment to light a cigar for himself, sucking the smoke down like he’d been doing it for ages (then again…hadn’t he been smoking for ages?) before grabbing a second beer, opening it, setting the the largest bowl of snacks next to him on the couch, and leaned back with a sigh, watching the porn like he did this all the time.

After a few moments, he reached down and started tugging at his cock, but as he did, his hand ran over something else–a gut. He hadn’t had a gut earlier, had he? He’d been in great shape, he spent almost all of his time in high school playing sports…or…or did he? He let out a belch, grabbed another beer, easily juggling the can, his cigar, handfuls of snacks, and his cock all the while. This felt…more natural than sports. Didn’t he really spend most of his time on the couch, binge eating, drinking beer, and watching porn? Fuck, that fat chub sure could take cock like a pro. He wondered what it might be like to get fucked like that.

Hours passed. He had no idea how many times he’d cum, or how many pornos he’d watched, but his eyes just kept drifting to the dildo on the table. Fuck it. He didn’t have any lube, so he licked it like he’d watched that fat chub lick that bear’s cock, and then placed it at his asshole, rolling over onto his big belly, reaching around and pushing the dildo into his hole. His cock shot a massive load as he did. He groped for another beer, but couldn’t quite reach. More important to fuck his piggy hole anyway, right? At least he still had a cigar to smoke.

Leo came down to investigate a little later, once he heard loud snoring coming from the couch. There Troy was–his stepson, weighing probably over four hundred pounds, reeking of beer and cigar smoke, a thick beard coating his face and fat chins, the dildo still buried in his ass as he slept. Just like he’d wanted. He headed down the basement stairs and made his way to Troy’s room, and sure enough, it was completely different. Where before it had been the cleanest room in the house, now it was utterly filthy. All of his athletic equipment had disappeared, replaced by XXXL shirts and drawers full of lube and dildos, and there on the desk beside an ashtray heaped with cigar butts–the set of college acceptance letters had disappeared, and he had a feeling that the new Troy had probably already dropped out of school entirely at this point. Leo smiled–if anyone was going to drain his bitch mom’s money it was him, not some clean nosed son going to college. Still, he wasn’t quite done–Troy had so much further to fall, after all. And luckily, Leo had all weekend to do shove him down further and further, but first he had some preparations to make down here, and got to work on Troy’s private bathroom in the basement.