Smoke Spirit (Part 10)

He could feel Howie groping his fat tits while his son, Stew, sucked the last few drops of piss from the head of his cock, and then started sucking on the fat head. He could feel Pete stroking his cock while he watched his own father fist his cousin’s tight hole. He could feel Stew’s ass clench tight around his own fist. They were all one. They were all one with the spirit in the smoke surrounding them, and with a cry, all four of them came, sealed away in their new fate–four slaves to the spirit of the smoke which had infested Doug that night, and the thick haze in the house finally began to disperse, allowing them all to see Stew, their final member, in between them all.

He was fatter than the rest of them–even Howie–large enough that his gut hit the ground where he was on his knees, mouth still wrapped around his dad’s cock, sucking hard, making sure he sucked down every drop of cum to go with the piss swilling around in his gut. Their history had shifted as well–now, the prostitute Howie and Doug had fucked had brought twins, and the two of them had raised the boys in their…respective fashions. Where Pete was turning into a handsome muscle cub, taking after Doug, Pete had learned to indulge his greed and gluttony, just like his father. Howie leaned back, moaning, a thick cloud of smoke escaping his mouth as he did, and Doug could feel how close his brother was. He walked over, straddled his nephew’s back and started tugging on his brother’s tits, knowing just how to push him over the edge, feeling how happy the spirit was inside them all, now that it had a family again, a family like it had had before.

Of course, it hadn’t been a family quite like this one–Bandgar had gotten into a fight with a rough biker gang one night, and as he’d always been able to do, he turned them into a single spirit of smoke, and absorbed them into his body, where he’d begun warping and twisting them into something else. Bandgar liked to think of the spirits he made as gifts, and this spirit was a gift he’d decided to give to Douglas after that concert. Doug couldn’t be more thankful–he was alive again! He’d forgotten what it had been like, to be alive, and made of flesh, and how good it felt to cum in one of his boys’ nasty fucking holes. He–no, they needed to thank him.

“Keep playing you dirty fucks,” Doug said, “I gotta check a message.” He went upstairs and found his phone–or Douglas’ phone, rather. He wasn’t…quite the spirit, but he wasn’t quite Doug either. He was someone new–someone better. Something better, actually, because he couldn’t forget that he wasn’t alone here. Sure enough, Bandgar had sent him a message–a link to the band’s touring schedule, and that night they were playing in a big city one state over–close enough that they could make it if they ride all day. Of course, to do that, they’d need bikes. His family had to ride hogs, right?

He went back downstairs, and felt the rest of his family falling into yet another smoky orgy, but with a few smacks upside the head, he set they straight. They had to get on the road, and they had to get going soon. The smoke in the house had thinned somewhat, but hadn’t dissipated–it had been waiting, it seemed for the thought to form that they needed to leave, and it starts to swirl around each of them. It wasn’t like before, where they’d been swallowed up–this time it stuck to them and became clothing–and like their identical tattoos, all four of them were dressed in the same basic outfit–ragged jeans and leather chaps, boots, leather vests with no shirts. The two boys had on collars, of course, showing their place in the hierarchy below their fathers. They headed for the door, and the rest of the smoke followed them, flowing out into the late afternoon sun and forming a cloud on the driveway. It faded away after a minute or so, revealing four old Harley’s–the men all headed for them, instinctively knowing which of them was theirs, and with a cry from Doug, they all drove off, abandoning their house, and their lives, without a second thought.

It had been a decent gig, and tear-down was going smoothly–smoothly enough that Ned felt he could justify taking a break for a cigar outside, while the rest of the crew got shit wrapped up. He wondered how that kid from the night before was getting on–from the sound of his message that morning, the spirit he’d been working on had been…vigorous. Still, those were the best kind, in the end. The kid might not have deserved it, but fuck, Ned had been horny, and having the four of them hanging around in his head had been getting a bit tiresome. It was time to start a new project, but to do that, you gotta get rid of the old shit first.

He stepped out into the alley, cigar out, when he saw them–four hulking men standing beside four Harley’s, smoking cigars and watching the door. “There you are, ya fucker!” one of them shouted, and ran for him. Ned braced himself–depending on how things had settled he was either about to get punched, or…well, something a bit more pleasant, hopefully.

It was a kiss–a nice smoky one, though it didn’t last long enough for Ned’s liking. “Heh, guess the day went well for you. Got the family back together?”

“Sure fucking did! All four of us. I–We…fuck man, what ya fuckin’ did tah us–we’re so fuckin’ happy to be out again man. We owe ya a nice long night before we hit the road again, what do ya say? You wanna fuck around with four dirty fuckin’ biker bears?”

It sounded like a real good time to Ned–he was getting good at this. He lit his cigar, and hauled open the door, “Hey boys! I gotta take off. I’ll see ya in the morning before we leave!” A few guys complained at the boss ditching work, but Ned didn’t give a shit–he was following Doug over to his family for introductions, and then climbed on with him and rode off for a night of sex with his creations, before sending them off again in the morning. Still, he had a feeling this wouldn’t be the last time he met up with the four of them–after all, the highways could be a surprisingly small place, when you’ve been on them as long as Ned had. He reached around and groped Doug’s hard cock, admiring the size, and knew he was in for quite the ride himself later that night.

Smoke Spirit (Part 9)

It wasn’t long before Steven got home from class. He was shy and a bit of a loner, keeping to himself in the house. Wiry and short, with medium length hair cut into bangs, he managed to hide from attention more often than not–while he honestly didn’t care much about Douglas’ smoking, he sided with the other two just to avoid conflict as much as possible. And so, when Steven entered the house and saw the thick haze of smoke, his only thought was whether he could get away fast enough to avoid dealing with whatever must be going on inside, but instead, he found the sweet smelling smoke drawing him in, and he shut the door behind him, almost in a daze. The smoke was so thick, he could barely even see, and he started coughing immediately. In his head, he knew he should turn right back around, leave, and call 911, but instead he found himself stumbling into the haze, still coughing, trying to keep the smoke out of him as best he could, pulling up the collar of his shirt over his nose and mouth.

“In here, Steve!” A voice called, and it wasn’t a voice he recognized at all. Who in the world could that even be? He…he didn’t know why, but he needed to find out. He needed to…to join them? No, why had he thought that? He froze in the middle of the living room, holding his breath, trying to focus, telling himself he had to leave, that it…it was dangerous in here. The voice called out again, “Steve! Git yer ass in here, Howie’s about tah blow his bladder all over the floor, ya pig. Unless ya wanna lick it all up–I know…I know ya wanna do that sometimes…” the voice started chuckling then, and then groaned. He realized, too late, that his legs had started moving him closer to the doorway into the kitchen, and it was…hard to see, for some reason, like something was wrong with his eyes. But inside, he saw the most disturbing sight of his life–three men, all of them covered with tattoos–the same tattoos, in fact, in the midst of of a sweaty, smoky sex session. He could smell it on the air, the musk, and…and it was making his…his piggy cock so fucking hard.

No–why the fuck was he in here? Something was obviously very wrong, but…but didn’t he need to help out Howie? He always helped out Howie, and Pete, and Doug, of course. He was frozen in place, between his good sense and this strange compulsion, when Doug walked over to him, reeking of smoke, eyes bloodshot and smirking at him. “Don’t think too hard pig–we all know ya ain’t good at thinkin’. Hell, yer fucking dumber ‘n yer dad, ain’t that right Howie? This boy a yers popped out with even fewer fuckin’ brain cells than you did.”

“Yeah boy, git yer dumb ass over here ‘n help out yer Pa with this big ol’ load a piss I been savin’ fer ya. Ya know I ain’t gonna use a toilet when mah nasty boy is thirsty, right?”

No. No, he wasn’t doing this. None of this could be real. Everything seemed so…fuzzy all of a sudden. He tried to step back, but his Uncle Doug tugged him back, and shoved his cigar in Steve’s mouth, and the smoke made his head go light, his stomach turning itself into knots. Did he want to throw up? No…No, he…he was thirsty, wasn’t he?

“Come on, you dumb fucker, git down there ‘n drink.”

Everything seemed even more hazy than before, like something was clouding up his eyes, but one thing he could se was his fat, lazy pa, sittin’ in a chair by the table, cock hanging out, and fuck, that thirst of his was only getting worse. He stumbled forward, his body feeling…too light all of sudden, like he might blow away if he wasn’t careful, but he was down in front of his dad, mouth around his thick cock head, and as soon as his dad started pissing, all his other cares just…slipped away. Why in the hell had he been trying to worry about all of that other shit before? He was no good with thinking stuff–hell, none of them were, aside from Uncle Doug, who called the shots. The smoke was getting thicker around him, and when Pete stepped up and started pissing all over his filthy cousin, he could feel the stream running down his head and his back, but all he could see was Pete’s cock–the rest of him was lost in the thick smoke surrounding them.

On the outside, Doug could see the clouds condensing around the scrawny kid who’d come into the house–he could…kind of remember him from before, like he could kind of remember all of them, but none of that really mattered. No, what mattered to him now, was family. His family. His dirty, nasty, piggy biker family, and fuck, he was so fucking horny, he could just fuck his boy’s ass again, or hell, maybe he’d take a turn with Stew’s hole–that boy’s ass was so fuckin’ loose, but then again, when you got fists shoved up there as often as he did, that’s what tended to happen. Yeah, that’s…that’s what he should do, give his nephew a good fisting–break him in right.

He barely noticed the spirit pulling him over towards the other three, all of them already disappearing into the thick clouds of smoke surrounding Steve, where he was kneeling on the ground, moaning and gulping piss. Doug got down, fished around in the haze until he found Stew’s ass–not quite wide enough yet, but he’d be himself soon enough–and started probing it with his fingers, feeling the boy shove back onto his hand, hungry to have his filthy hole filled up. The spirit was in front of him, his smoky cock right in Doug’s face, and he…swallowed it to the hilt. It wasn’t solid…but it was there. It was energy, it was force, it was…him, in a sense he could barely describe. The thing started pumping smoke into Doug’s guts, and he could feel the heat of it infusing every bit of him, burning away the last remnants of Douglas from every corner of his mind, the spirit slowly losing form, shoving its way down Doug’s gullet until it disappeared entirely, and then, Doug’s eyes–like the rest of his family–clouded over, becoming a swirling mass of smoke even thicker than the others…and he realized that he could feel them.

Smoke Spirit (Part 8)

Doug tried to fight and push back, holding onto his own memories, but every time he tried to bring forth something to counter the spirit’s assault, it seemed to catch fire, and before he could even think of it, it was gone. There was just him, his dirty minded brother and equally perverse son…and…and someone else, too, but they’d find him eventually too. And then the whole family would be back together, like nothing had happened at all. The searing burns were more frequent now, and he could feel his boy flinch a bit as well, on occasion, meaning he was probably suffering the same sensation. He realized, at last, what he was feeling–it was his tattoos, of course! He and Howie had gotten matching tattoos when they were teenagers, and had just…kept on going. It wasn’t hard to see that they were related, given how similarly decorated they were, and as soon as they could convince someone, they’d started tattooing their boy the same as they were, when he was a teenager. He was getting close now, as was his son, and Howie, and the three of them came within seconds of one another, the smoke finally beginning to dissipate, and Doug could step back and haul his cock free of Pete’s sweet hole, and look at the damage the spirit had done to them all this time.

Then again, maybe damage wasn’t quite the right word, because when the smoke began to lift away from Howie’s body, where he was in the chair, all Doug could do was let out a gruff moan, climb over his son between them, and start groping his brother’s flabby body. His…his twin brother’s flabby body. Yeah, he was only ten minutes older, sure, but he was still the big brother–although Howie had him beat in the weight department. He’d settled in at around 275 pounds at this point, and he carried it well–his thick gut sticking out in front of him, two meaty tits with massive nipples resting on top. His ass was plenty wide, and jiggled a bit more than his gut ever would–Doug could…remember how it reverberates when he’s pounding his brother’s fat hole over…over the back of their bikes–fuck! What the fuck is he thinking? What the fuck is he doing?

“Fuck, I gots the hottest fuckin’ big brother in the whole fuckin’ world,” Howie said, looking up at Doug, his eyes the same solid grey as Pete’s below him. “Hottest fuckin’ nephew too! That’s fer suckin’ down Unc’s cum, Petey.”

“Welcome, Uncle Howie! You know I love the taste a yer fuckin’ cum. Dad’s too!”

“Yeah…yeah, yer a little fuckin’ slut. Take after yer Unc like that, boy,” Doug said, but even though the words felt…right, and that new twang sounded so natural and easy, part of him was fighting for dear life against this. But then, Howie took a deep breath of cigar smoke, grabbed Doug by the collar and locked lips with him, and fuck, the sharp taste of tobacco on his brother’s lips had him hard all over again, and ready for another round. But he…they…they had to wait, because…because wasn’t someone else still missing? He had his bro, his son, but wasn’t there someone else? Yeah, there was, but his brain was being dumb–hell, he was pretty fucking dumb, but not as dumb as Howie and Pete, that’s for sure. Someone had to be the brains in this family after all. He took a breath off his own cigar, got Pete’s mouth around his cock so he could clean it off like a good boy, and kept kissing his brother. He could…tell, everything was going to sort itself out. All he needed to do was wait. Or…Or should he be fighting this? Resisting? Isn’t…that what he should be doing?

He felt a hotter pair of hands on him, and beside him he saw the spirit. It was so solid now, and he was certain that if he reached out he wouldn’t be able to push his hand through it. It looked…so much like him, somehow. It came closer, it’s smoky belly pressed against Doug’s side, and he sighed in pleasure–from the heat, the smell of the spirit, wishing…wishing he could smell like that, even.

“It says you’ve done real good, bro. It’s real happy with ya. One more, ‘n ya’ll be one a us too,” Howie said, looking up at Doug.

“Yeah Pa, I can’t wait until yer wit’ us. Yer gonna love it. It says yer gonna love it, ‘n I love it, so it’s gotta be true, right?” Pete had crawled out from under Doug and was standing beside him, opposite the spirit, and looking at the three of them, he couldn’t believe how…similar they all looked to one another. The differences were there, sure, but no one would ever not guess they were family. That…that they were…one. Together. “One more Pa, we can wait. He’ll be home soon.”

Steven, of course. What time was it, even? He couldn’t see a clock, he couldn’t tear his attention away from his family long enough to care. He was getting hard again–they all were–he leaned down and kissed his twin again, feeding the hog some smoke, listening to his snort a bit in excitement, while his boy licked at his musky pit, blowing smoke over his skin. He could…feel them somehow. Hear them in his head, if he focused hard, but it was too hard. “Soon,” came another voice, his own voice, actually, “Very soon.”

Smoke Spirit (Part 7)

He shoved his lit cigar in Howard’s mouth, who kept trying to spit it out. Douglas ended up shoving it in, nearly down his throat, while Pete plugged Howard’s nose, forcing him to inhale the smoke, watching as Howard’s eyes clouded up–again, not as quickly as Pete’s had, but he could tell that there wouldn’t be much fight left in him soon, and the two of them released his arms.

“Y-Yeah, don’ know what I was thinkin’!” Howard said, “Me…fuckin’…runnin’.”

The smoke was pouring out of him now, like it had out of Pete in the bedroom–first from his mouth, but then it seemed to be pouring out of his very pores. The spirit touched Howard’s running clothes, and they turned black, dissolving into ash and crumbling away, as the smoke began to envelop him. “Son…help your uncle out, would ya? Suck his cock, while I have a…another go at your hole.”

“Aww…fuck yeah, ain’t nothin’ like mah hot nephew’s mouth round mah thick cock, tah clear my drunk ass head out!” Howard said through the cloud of smoke, which had swallowed his entire head. His voice had shifted again, lower, and picked up an accent so thick Douglas thought it only existed in movies and stupid TV shows for hicks. Still, even if it was heavy, it was also…familiar to his ears. Comforting even. The cloud of smoke began to descend lower, covering his chest and flat stomach, and when it reached Pete’s head, it began swallowing up his son as well. He wanted to run, he wanted to do something to save them. He managed to take a step back, and then another, watching the smoke absorb the bottom half of Howard’s body, as well as Pete’s head and neck, planted in his crotch, sucking his cock.

“Come on Pa, thought ya’s was gonna give mah cubby hole another rough plowin’!”

It was Pete’s voice this time, drifting from the cloud of smoke–he wasn’t going to let this happen to him, he wasn’t going to give into this any more. The spirit beside Howard on the chair walked over to him, once it realized he wasn’t simply going to give in, and started stroking Douglas’s cock, pulling him forward into a kiss, the things mouth hot and dry–like eating an ashtray, and yet he was so turned on, he couldn’t help but moan.

“Please…don’ do this tah us,” Douglas said, his own voice picking up the same accent as his two roommates, “We ain’t done nothing tah deserve this, it ain’t right. I’m sorry ya lost yer family, but I ain’t gonna do this.”

But even as he protested, the spirit was stroking harder on his cock, pulling him forward, step by reluctant step, until the spirit had it lined up with Pete’s ass, and unable to resist–just…wanting to know if his son’s hole felt as good as he remembered it–he slid inside with a low groan. The spirit straddled Pete’s body, weightlessly, it’s form joining the thick cloud of smoke covering the front half of his body and still spreading further, inching closer to where Douglas was now fucking his boy’s tight, wet hole. He had to stop, but he couldn’t. The spirit kept kissing him, pushing into him, breathing into him, and Douglas…felt little bits of his soul heating up, drying and blowing away with each smoky exhale. The smoke was beginning to coat him as well–he could feel his son’s hole, but he couldn’t see him anymore, and the only evidence he had that Howie–no, not Howie, Howard–existed was the occasional moan and smack of his boy’s mouth around his uncle’s cock. Douglas gave in, too tired to fight, too hungry for smoke, and the smoke enveloped him again–but this time, the sensation was different.

Before, the heat had been inside him body, as his muscles had grown–and there was still some of that heat, mostly concentrated in his gut and chest. He also felt heat on his skin however, sometimes searingly hot, enough to make him wince and flinch as he fucked his son’s hole. The tenuous connection he’d felt form between his son and him deepened, and he found himself forming the same link with Howard–no, with Howie, of course. With…with his brother. Memories came to him, more than he could really begin to process, from his time spent growing up with Howie, the two of them jumping one another’s bones every chance they could as soon as they’d figured out what their cocks were even for. In the trailer park, in the woods, back behind the school when they should have been in class–they’d been, quite literally, as close as two brother’s could be. As the older one, Doug had always been the one to call the shots, and Howie had been his always willing accomplice.

They’d fucked the bitch together, one night at a truckstop–one of the very few times they’d even bothered with pussy, and they’d been surprised with the appearance of Pete about a year later–a three month old infant left in their care–and they’d done as well as they could with Pete. They still weren’t totally sure who the father really was, but for ease, Doug had accepted the official title, while Howie had been the ever-present uncle. Pete had, thankfully, turned out to be as much of a pervert as his daddies, sucking their cocks, getting fucked–anything was good for Pete, as long as a cock was inside him.

Smoke Spirit (Part 6)

Downstairs, they both heard the front door of the house open and close, followed by someone cursing. “Fuck, why does it smell like smoke in here? Douglas? Are you smoking up there, you fuck?” It sounded like Howard, another of their housemates. Before Douglas could decide what to do about that, however, Pete got an excited look on his face.

“That sounds like Unc!” he said, and before Douglas could stop him, he’d shot out the bedroom door, still naked, and ran down the stairs. With a growl, Douglas took off after him, hoping he could put a stop to this before anyone else he knew got sucked into whatever nightmare he was creating around him.

He hit the top of the stairs, when he heard a short exchange.

“Hey Unc! Wait…you don’t look like Unc, but you do sound like him…”

“Who the…what the hell is this, Douglas?”

“Oh I see, you just aren’t Unc yet! Daddy, get down here!”

He rounded the top of the stairs, and realized a bit too late that this is exactly what that smoke thing would want–after all, it had just taken one sniff of smoke for Pete to fall under whatever spell this was in the backyard, but as hard as he tried to get himself to stop, his feet were still moving, heading down the stairs, smoke pouring from his mouth around the cigar, heading out in thick tendrils right for Howard across the room. “You have to get out of here, Howard! Fucking run man, run!” he managed to say, before the smoke clamped his jaws shut around the cigar.

Howard had no clue who that burly, hairy, naked cigar smoking fuck was coming down the stairs, but running was something he was more than happy to do. Hell, it was something he was good at too–Howard was on both the cross country running team, and the swim team at school–both of which gave him a powerful, wiry build, and made him real fucking fast. He did his best to not make a stink about his housemate’s habit, but it disgusted him all the same–and he hated being around smokers, it always hurt his lungs. He turned towards the front door, but the other guy–the younger one who had come down first–blocked his route, so he turned around and headed for the back of the house.

“Don’t worry daddy, I got him!” Pete shouted, and before Howard could get very far, and build up much speed, the cub had leapt and slammed into him, sending them both to the floor of the living room, and the smoke coming from Douglas twined forward and slid into Howard’s mouth. Douglas had expected him to go under like Pete had, outside, but almost immediately, Howard began hacking and coughing, trying to push the smoke back out of him, kicking his legs violently, trying to free himself from Pete’s hold on his legs, and finally a kick connected right in Pete’s gut, making him grunt, and loosening his grip enough for Howard to wriggle free.

He stumbled up, still coughing and hacking at the smoke around him. It defied reason, but for some reason, it felt like the stuff was…trying to get into him, somehow. He hacked harder, and stumbled off towards the kitchen, and the back door to the house, but he felt winded all of sudden, like he just couldn’t get enough air. His head was swimming, and his vision was foggy. He got into the kitchen, and collapsed, still coughing, trying to breathe, and then, two people were on either side of him. “Come on, Howie–let’s get you sitting up. Tied one on a bit too hard last night, I…I think…”

Howie felt his blood chill. On one side of him was the older man from the stairs, but on the other…it wasn’t a person at all. It was some strange figure that seemed to be made out of smoke itself. He thought it just had to be the younger man who’d tackled him, but he could hear him staggering up in the living room, behind ten feet behind him. Still, for being made out of smoke, the thing…could still lift him, and together, Douglas and the spirit hefted Howard up and sat him down in a chair, at the table.

Douglas felt like he was in some fucked up dream. He knew that what he was doing was wrong, that he should be trying to help Howard escape, but he didn’t seem to have control of his body. It was the spirit that was controlling him, putting words in his mouth, and even stranger, they felt like the right words. The words he would say…if he was really in his right mind.

“You…told me to run,” Howie said, but his voice sounded all wrong. Deeper, with a grating rasp, like his neighbor who’d smoked for years sounded.

“Run? Howie, we both know you haven’t run in decades, man. Fastest I’ve seen you go is a quick lumber over to the cupboard for a nice, big snack.”

“Unc ok?” Pete said, coming down the hall, “He was going crazy back there!”

“Yeah son, your uncle’s just hungover is all, not quite all there sometimes.”

“I wasn’t fucking drinking…I was…I just got back from a run.”

Douglas laughed, “Fuck, you hallucinate some strange shit when you’re drunk. Still, best way out is through, right bro? First of all, let’s get you lit up…here, have mine, I’ll light another.”

Where Boys Become Men (Part 10)

There were a few surprises along the way, of course. A year and a half after they’d begun their release plan, they were ushered away for an unexpected cognitive session down at the lab. Neither of them was really sure why, and when they got there, they discovered that a third subject was already strapped in, and that they both were going to join him for a session. Harry managed to pick up that the other subject was a level three who had suffered a demotion as punishment, but what that meant for them neither of them knew, until the session began, and they found themselves introduced to their father, Edgar. He was surprisingly resistant, and neither of his boys could really understand why. He would get angry suddenly, or start begging, and the memory stream would have to reset, but after a long time, he started to give in and accept these two handsome young men as his own flesh and blood. After the extended session, the three of them were escorted to a new cell–a much larger one with a king sized bed–and after a long family fuck none of them could resist, they all fell asleep in one another’s arms.

Daddy put up quite a fight for a while. He wasn’t always much help in their work simulations on the farm, and he was prone to bouts of depression–staring at himself in the mirror as he slowly aged into his 60’s, hair turning white, his body losing strength, his beard and what remained of his hair growing long and bushy. He kept trying to tell his sons that they needed to fight back. That together, they could resist and escape. In the end, daddy had undergo further cognitive sessions before he finally gave in and allowed himself to be believe, before be allowed himself to be happy with his two handsome boys.

Of course, all three of them would have bad days, on occasion. Tanner would remember something strange, get a thought in his head that he didn’t deserve this, that he was being persecuted and treated unfairly. Usually his brother could give him a rough fuck, and the pleasure would push those bad thoughts away–and over time, they dimmed and all but disappeared. Harry, on the other hand, could turn…suddenly cruel, and violent. Tanner might break something, or mess something up, and his brother would fly into a rage, beating him and fucking him until his daddy hauled him off and forced him to calm down. And of course, whenever their daddy got depressed, his two boys could cheer him up by plowing him at both ends for a couple of hours. They all could sense that they needed one another–that they’d been meant to find each other, that without this family of theirs, they’d never truly be happy.

All three of them began meeting with the head warden, to assess their fitness for release. It wasn’t too long after that, when the three of them were told that after six months of final cognitive and lifestyle work, they’d be released and could return to their family farm. All three of them were so excited that they could go home soon. None of them really knew where they were, or why they were even here, but they all knew that getting out was something to fight for. Now, in addition to cognitive sessions, filling in the last few gaps in their collective memories, they would have styling sessions as well. The two brothers had ended up looking almost like identical twins, aside from their difference in age, and the mutual styling didn’t help–giving them both shaved heads and thick beards down to their solid, hairy guts. The one thing different was their tattoos. Tanner was extremely excited when he got most of his body covered with images of pigs, since they were his favorite animal, while Harry had his arms and legs covered with an intricate motif of gears and machinery–fitting, since he was so good as a mechanic. Their daddy didn’t get much in the way of tattoos, but that was alright–he didn’t do much work on the farm anymore after all–he was there mostly to keep the family in line. He might have resisted at first, but now, family was the only thing that really mattered to Edgar–he’d die before letting something happen to his sons, or before letting one of them get any ideas in their heads about running off or leaving the farm.

At long last, nearly seven years after entering the facility, Tanner was released with his family, and driven a few miles away to their family farm. It was exactly like he remembered it, even though he also knew he’d never been there before. He ran to the pig stys immediately, excited to see all of his boars, hogs and sows. He was going to be in charge of the pigs–he could do that. That’s why he had tattoos of pigs on him, so that he wouldn’t forget what his job was, and he always had his brother to help him out if he got stuck, or if he had a machine that needed fixing. Harry always had grease on his fingers and face from tinkering with his machines, but Tanner always liked it–it made him taste sexier, when they two of them would take one of their frequent breaks from work to roll around in the dust or the mud and fuck each other’s brains out.

Every few months, their family would grow, too, as another member of their very large family was released from the facility to join their kin. It was always fun, getting to know the newcomers–what they liked, how they tasted, who they liked to fuck. They were usually cousins of Tanner’s and Harry’s, though occasionally another daddy would join the group to help keep the younger men in line. There were even a few cubs on occasion to help out with some of the easier farm work. Their roles on the farm were always clear, however, written and tattooed right on their skin, so none of them could ever forget their roles in life. They never had to want for anything, either–the facility kept them well supplied with food and other goods, and within the year, the farm was bustling and turning quite a substantial profit. Tanner, in the end, was happy. He hadn’t become the man he’d expected to be, but as he lay with his little brother at night, head nested in his musky pit, listening to the rest of his family snoring softly, he couldn’t imagine any kind of man he’d rather want to be.

Where Boys Become Men (Part 9)

He did, eventually, get led into an office with a warden he recognized, who in simple words explained to him that, as a one, his cognitive skills had been severely curtailed. “We do this to make your chances of recidivism lower.”

“Recida-what?”

“We don’t want you to get in any more trouble, Tanner. You don’t want to be in trouble, do you?”

Tanner shook his head, no, but something made him suspicious, made him feel like he’d been tricked somehow, but he couldn’t piece enough thoughts together to really form anything coherent.

“Now, why don’t we go meet your two. We’re very excited that you’re going to be helping us with a new release program, Tanner. We think this is going to be perfect for you–you’ll love it. I promise.”

“I just want to go home,” Tanner said, as he was escorted back to block C.

“You will soon. But first you have to be able to remember where your home is.”

“I know where…home is…” Tanner said, but the memory was foggy, “I think I does.”

“It’ll clear up in time,” the warden said, and opened the door to a cell. It was identical to the room he’d been in with Marcus, but someone else was in there, waiting for him. “Good morning Harry. This is Tanner–he’s going to be your one.”

“No, I don’t want a two!” Tanner said, trying to back up, “Twos are mean guys. Twos make me feel bad.”

The guards pushed him inside, and the other man approached him–and pulled Tanner into a hug. “Hey–it’s alright,” Harry said, “I’m gonna be here for you. I promise.”

“Harry will take good care of you, I know he will. He’s going to make an excellent two, aren’t you?”

Harry nodded, “Yes sir!”

“That’s good. Now, your bands will be linked from now on–Harry, I’ll let you and Tanner here get to know each other a bit, so you can have the day off from work, and an extra daily allowance.”

“Really? Thanks!” Harry said, his face sincere only because he didn’t seem capable of subterfuge. “Come on Tanner–we have the whole day for us!”

The warden left, and Tanner pulled himself away from Harry’s thick arms. He was big. But not nearly as large as Tanner was, but the idea of being under someone’s thumb again was filling him with anxiety. “Please don’t hurt me. I don’t wanna get hurt anymore.”

“Hey, it’s alright! I don’t like hurting people. I used to do that, but I don’t want to anymore,” Harry said, and stepped closer, “You smell real good, you know–you wanna have sex? We can fuck if you want. I like fucking.”

“You…you want me to choose?” Tanner asked, feeling a bit daunted by the possibility of having to decide something. He wasn’t quite sure what he wanted. “I…like sex. But I…kind of need a cigar.”

“You like cigars? I like pipes. Let’s smoke, and then fuck.”

Tanner thought that sounded like a good idea. He smiled, as Harry ordered him a pack of cigars–nicer ones than Marcus ever let him have–and after they’d both lit up and shared lungfuls of smoke for a few minutes, Harry guided Tanner’s mouth to his cock, and he got his first taste of his new two’s cum–the first taste of many more to come.

By the end of their first week together, Tanner had discovered that Harry was a very different kind of guy than Marcus had ever been. He didn’t order Tanner around as much, didn’t demand his complete submission. He was more than willing to listen, and would even take suggestions–though Tanner soon discovered that his new brain found the idea of deciding anything more difficult and terrifying than anything else. It was easier to just follow along and do what Harry told him to do–not because he had to, but…because Harry seemed to know what he was doing.

Other than that, his life was similar. The two of them would do their work in virtual reality once or twice a day, and then have the rest of their time to themselves. He noticed after a few days that the work sessions they were doing didn’t seem to be as varied as they had been with Marcus. In particular, they always took pace in the same location–a rather rundown looking farm in the middle of nowhere. The tasks were a bit more complex as well. They were taking care of virtual livestock and shoveling out manure, repairing broken down parts of the various buildings on the farms, or even fixing the trucks and tractors on occasion. Harry was the one who had to do the complex stuff like that, with Tanner fetching tools and helping him lift the heavy stuff on occasion. Taking one look at the complex mechanics of an engine made his head spin–he didn’t know how Harry could do it.

Outside of work, they fucked a lot, ate a lot, and smoked all the time. Tanner liked Harry’s pipe–the tobacco always smelled so sweet, the way it mixed with his cigar. He wanted to switch, but Harry wouldn’t let him–he said he always got so turned on, seeing tanner with a thick cigar in his mouth. The sex was more equal too. Harry did like to top–and Tanner liked to bottom–but on several occasions, usually after some pleading and begging, Harry would let Tanner fuck him as well. Beyond that, they watched a lot of porn, and a movie or two on occasion, but it was hard for Tanner to focus on a narrative. Porn was easier. There were some guys, and then they fucked–he didn’t have to try and understand a story to get what was happening. He just had to get turned on, and suck Harry’s cock.

Each week, the two of them would be escorted back to the lab for more cognitive work. Tanner was terrified the first time–he didn’t want them to make him even stupider, but when they assured him that these sessions were just to help Tanner and Harry get to know one another better, he went along willingly. As long as Harry was there too…he felt a bit safer, at least. These sessions, unlike the first one filled with painful shocks, were more like…dreams, but very vivid ones. He was always there with Harry in them, but they felt more like memories, than anything. After a couple of sessions, while chatting with the warden afterward, they finally realized why they got along so well–they were brothers! How both of them had managed to forget this fact eluded them, but knowing they were with family made them both very excited–and made their sex much hotter too.

In fact, both of them found themselves becoming obsessed with the other’s musk. All it would take was one whiff of the other’s smelly pits or ass crack to drive them make them horny–and neither of them could really stand to be apart for very long. Soon, the brothers were inseparable–never straying more than a couple of feet away from one another, knowing that as long as they were with their brother, they would never have to be alone again.

One significant change from before, however, was that neither of them was in control over their hormones any longer. Their bodies were certainly changing, but in more…subtle ways than before. Perhaps the most obvious shift was that they both were growing older–their hairlines receding, wrinkles appearing around their eyes, a few flecks of grey tinging their beards. Harry stopped around his early fifties, while Tanner looked quite a bit older, with quite a bit more grey in his beard and hair. He might be the older brother, he figured out, but Harry was the one who was always going to be in charge–just like things ought to be.

Twenty Lashes

“You ain’t too good at learnin’, are ya, boy?” Boss said.

It was just advertised as a summer job, out on a farm in the sticks, but what Nick hadn’t known was that the position was, actually, rather permanent. Whoever Boss was, the guy who owned the farm, he had some weird magic voodoo shit going for him, and Nick…he found he had to do everything the fucker said. What that meant, was close to ten hours of backbreaking labor all day, and then, at night…well, he’d service Boss then, before being put to bed in the shed outside, where he’d be living, eating slop like the pigs, pissing and shitting in a fucking bucket…

So of course, he’d been trying to escape. He’d noticed, that sometimes Boss would lose focus on him, and he’d be able to slip out of his control. He’d tried to take the truck the first time, but hadn’t even been able to get to the keys before Boss had reasserted control over him. This was his…third attempt, trying to just get away into the woods, out of Boss’s range, but he’d fucking found him all the same, and now here he was again, tied up to the fucking whipping tree, Boss and his bullwhip behind him, trying to brace himself.

“Well, maybe ten lashes just ain’t enough fer ya. Ah mean, ten ‘n ten makes twenty already, right? Well, maybe another twenty wil properly…settle ya down, boy.”

Nick’s gut dropped. It wasn’t the number of lashes which concerned him, exactly. It was what happened with each lash. Every time, he…aged another year. He’d been 22 when he got here, and now he was 42–hairy, a bit of a gut, long beard…he hardly recognized himself in the mirror anymore. Twenty lashes–he’d be fucking 62! He tried to fight, tried to pull free of Boss’s control, but couldn’t…and then, the whipping started.

The worst part, still, was that as much as it hurt–and it did hurt–his cock throbbed with excitement each time, all the same. He…enjoyed being hurt by the Boss, it made him feel good. Hurting himself for the Boss, giving himself up for the Boss, sacrificing for the Boss–

No! No, those weren’t his thoughts, he had to fight, but fuck, he was getting so…tired all of a sudden. Ten lashes in, and he was in his fifties, his gut much larger now, his hair turning white, skin tanned dark from…from years, under the hot sun, in Boss’s service. No–he had to fight the memories, they weren’t real, but his head was dulling more than it had before. He felt so…fucking stupid all of a sudden. It was hard to tell what was real and what wasn’t. After twenty, the sixty year old Nick was panting, his old cock having blown three loads in the front of his grungy jeans, moaning in pain, and pleasure. Boss walked over and fucked his old ass, feeling the blood smear between them, and Nick pushed back, feeling Boss’s world…swallow him. He couldn’t escape, not looking like this. No, best just to…to serve.

“Wish you boys would catch on sooner–yer only gonna have a few more years a work left before ya keel over, ‘n I’ll have tah find another one,” Boss said, “Still, gotta love yer old loose holes while they last, right boy?”

“Yes sir…anythin’ fer ya, Boss.”

“That’s what I like tah hear boy, that’s what I like tah hear.”

Source: hhoncho2

Corporate Sabotage

“Hey, Bishop,” Frank said, knocking on the door of my office, “I just heard you landed the promotion to VP–congrats! I put my name in the hat too, but I had a feeling you were a shoe in.”

I smirked at Frank. We’d been…something between friends and rivals in the office for years now. To each other’s faces, we’re all smiles, but we’d fought hard for every last scrap–projects, bonuses, promotions–but I suppose you could say that with this, I’d finally won, in a sense. “Thanks Frank, I appreciate it. You would have been a great choice too. Who knows? Another slot might open up in a few years–I’ll certainly recommend you.”

“Heh, or even sooner,” he said, “Anyway, I got you a gift–something for you to enjoy tonight, while you’re celebrating,” he walked over and handed me a small, wrapped package, “I’d come to the party, but I’ve got plans.”

“No worries–don’t be feeling too sorry for yourself. You always fight hard.”

“You know it,” he said, with a wink, and then left. At least he had the courtesy to lose with dignity. Maybe I actually will follow through on that recommendation in the future–it’ll be dull without him around, in a way. I put the gift in my briefcase and forget about it, and leave to go get beers with the bosses to celebrate. I get home late, and only remember the gift when I see a bit of wrapping stuck in the hinge of the case. I open it up, and find a pack of cigars–nice ones, by the look and smell of them, but not a brand I recognize. Why not? I don’t smoke them often, but I deserve a treat, and I’m too wired to go to bed just yet.

Frank definitely has good taste in cigars–the first one is a pleasure to smoke. In fact, I feel more relaxed than I have in ages, and surprisingly horny too. I haul out my cock and start jacking off as I smoke, and I swear my cock seems…different. Longer, and…and with a bunch of skin hanging over the head. It feels good though, and I keep at it, feeling my head dull a bit. I take off my shirt and start tweaking a nipple, seeing…tattoos on both of my pecs. I don’t…have tattoos though, right? I blow a load all over my chest, and rub it into my skin, feeling gross as I do so, but it just…feels right. But now I have tah piss like a fuckin’ racehorse, ‘n I get up and head for the crapper–where I see a fuckin’ stranger in the gahd damn mirror, lookin’ out at me!

I look like a fuckin’ hick! I’m so fuckin’ pissed, ‘n I just has a feelin’ it’s gotta have somethin’ tha do with these cigars. I might not be able tah think too good, but ya gotta wake up pretty fuckin’ early tah git one past this cowboy! I find mah work phone ‘n text Frank, demandin’ answers, when I hears a knock on the door. I answer it, ‘n there’s Frank, and somebody’s with him. An old fuck, lookin’ like he just stepped off a pig farm, and…and fuck, he’s…real sexy like. He’s smokin’ a gar too, ‘n the fat fuck has me pressed to the wall in a moment, feedin’ me his fuckin’ smoke, rubbin’ mah tool, ‘n fuck, all I wanna do is taste ‘em.

“Sorry about this, Bishop, but…well, you’re the one who said I always fight dirty. Looks like that cigar of yours is almost done–how about we light another one for you?”

I know I shouldn’t, but fuck…Ah know Ah can’t help mahself.

“Won’t be much left of you after this one, I can promise you that. But don’t worry–this here’s my Uncle Eddie–owns a pig farm out in the heartland. He’s been needing a new boy, and I offered you up, in exchange for a bit of help with our family magic. He’s a mean fucker, and dirty son of a bitch, but I don’t think the new you is going to mind much. Everyone’s going to assume you cracked under the pressure, I suppose–well, at least I can take over for you, right? I’ll just let the two of you finish up here, and he’ll take you home in the morning. Have a nice, new life.”

Course, Ah didn’t hear too much a that–had mah face buried in mah…pa’s reekin’ pit, ‘fore he shoved me down ‘n gave me a right proper skullfuck. Now we’s in his truck, headin’ west–ain’t lookin back though. How can Ah, with mah face buried in Pa’s nasty crotch the whole way home?

Source: wantin2ride

Think Bit To Be Big (2 of 2)

This isn’t me. This isn’t me. I have to focus on that, I have to remember that. If I can just…get out of here, if I can just focus on that, and leave without…without any of them suspecting anything, maybe I can get away.

How long have I been coming here? Six months? This seems impossible–there’s just…just no way, I could look like this, not in that short amount of time. I’m a fuckin’ beast! Yeah, fuck, look at those fuckin’ meaty ass thighs on me–gotta get back out there, it’s fuckin’ leg day, ‘n I gotta get big!

No! Fuck, I almost went out there again, but I have…to stay in here. Collect myself, calm down, and focus. I’m not like this. I’m not one of them. God, I can’t believe I’m wearing fucking camo shorts, like some fucking hick or something. The goatee doesn’t help either or the hat. And…and does this shirt say West Virginia? I’m not…from West Virginia, am I? But why do I…fuck, everything’s so hazy in my head, I don’t know who I am.

“Ford? Bro? Everything all right in here?”

Fuck, it’s fucking Mike!

“I saw you out on the floor. Looked like you were thinking a bit, Ford. You know how we feel about you all thinking here. What are we supposed to think about, Ford?”

“Think Big! Be Big!”

Oh fuck, I just said that out loud, didn’t I?

He opens the door, and he’s blocking the entire frame of the bathroom stall, where I sought refuge. He’s bigger than all of us, but he’s fucking smart as hell too. He’s the one who does this to us, who…changes us. Warps us around his little fantasies and desires.

“There you are, Ford. Yeah, you’re thinking, aren’t you? Come on you stupid hick, you know you’re shit brain isn’t good for thinking.”

Fight it, gotta fight him, “Ya fucker, I ain’t no fuckin’ hick, yer fuckin’…ya did somethin’ tah me, tah all a us.”

Oh fuck, he’s got his fucking hand on my cock–is…isn’t even…bigger? Fuck, I think it is, ‘n look at that fuckin; foreskin on my damn shaft, fuck! Yeah, that there, that’s a real fine piece a redneck meat. Gonna fuckin’ stroke that fucker off, that big thing, big…big, yeah, think big, like Mike always says. Think big, ‘n be big…yeah Mike’s gonna feed me that cock a his, then it’s back tah fuckin’ leg day, just like everythin’s supposed tah be.