A Study in Flannel (2 of 2)

*RRRIIPPP*

“There we are! Right at the seam. Let me just tug this sleeve off–we’ll have you feeling more comfortable in no time, Wallflower.”

“The tattoos? Where do you think they came from, dumbass? Nice and trashy, just how I like my rednecks.”

“You don’t wanna be a redneck? Then I guess you should have looked at the calendar! Hear that everyone? Wallflower here didn’t want to a redneck but he didn’t even check the calendar!”

*Laughter*

“Now Wallflower. No one thinks they want to be a redneck. But trust me, once you go there, you’d be surprised how few of ‘em wanna go back. Now give me that other sleeve, let’s see what we can do here…”

*RRIPPPP”

“There we are–you’re looking better already, Wallflower. Look at those new sleeves of yours, all those tattoos…You’re gonna be a real sleazy fucker, ain’t ya? Now one last thing, Wallflower…”

*Pop..PopPop..Pop*

There we are-no more buttons on that shirt–just let that dirty, hairy bubba gut of yours hang out. Got some rings in those tits Wallflower! You’re kinkier than I thought. Oh? That feel good Bubba? You like having me play with those tit rings of yours? You know I get first go with every new boy, right? So lean in here, and shove some of that cigar smoke in my maw, you nasty fuck.”

…

“Fuck Bubba, that’s a nice mouth you got. Love the feel of that beard too–and damn fucker, a mullet? Whose 80’s fantasy did you come stumbling out of? Yeah, I see you grinning at yourself in the mirror–you do like it, don’t you? Just fucking admit it.”

“Yeah–that’s what I thought, Bubba. Now get down there and blow my rod–and then I’ll be turning you over to crowd here. Don’t think you’ll get away with being a wallflower the rest of the night–I think that pretty mouth of yours can look forward to being front and center.”

Source: mesquitebehr

No One Else Will Want You Now (Part 7)

“Get dressed, you dumb fuck–I want you to see what a stupid faggot you are,” Walter said, and he pitched a grungy wifebeater at Donny’s chest. He shrugged it on, the fabric gritty to the touch from the sand and mud ground into it–it lined up perfectly with his tan lines, which only made everything seem so much more…real. He got off the bed, grabbed the first pair of jeans he found on the filthy floor–it didn’t occur to him to find any underwear, since he never wore any–and pulled them on too. Now that he was standing, he realized how ill-fitting both things were–they seemed too big for him, and even when he cinched up the belt he’d left in the jeans, they still sagged around his thighs, but were too short for his legs, only coming to his upper ankle. “Shit don’t even f-f-fit,” he muttered.

“What, you were expecting them to come tailored? You buy whatever fits well enough at the thrift store–you know that, dumbass. Now get in front of the mirror–take a look at the new you. Tell me what your other boyfriend would think about you now.”

One hand keeping the pants up, Donny shuffled over to the mirror and looked at himself–his lank hair falling down in front of his eyes, his bushy mutton chops. The unwashed clothes, his unwashed body. He looked like a fucking loser. “F-F-fuck…” he said.

“Fuck?” Walter said, coming behind him, “As in what, slave? As in you’d fuck yourself? As in you think I should take a picture of you, send it to that boy of yours, and see if he’s still down to fuck?”

“N-No, as in I’m f-f-fuggin’ ugly, sir.”

“Yes, but are you ugly enough? See, I think the right person could still find you fuckable, don’t you? After all, you have your nice physique. If you bothered to brush that hair out of your way you still have a handsome face, even if it is greasy. This is all surface shit–we haven’t tackled anything foundational. We haven’t made you a freak. No-you’re going to be so repulsive, that for most people, the thought of having sex with you turns their damn stomach. Then I’ll be happy knowing no one is ever going to touch you again–no one except me, of course. Like that nice, clean skin of yours–how about we mark that up a bit?”

Donny felt the same, sharp sting as he had earlier, when that tattoo had appeared on his ass–although this time it was everywhere. Not enough to cover his entire body in any sort of understandable pattern–some places were blank, while others were covered. None of the tattoos made much sense, and all of them looked to have been crudely done on the cheap. Misspelled words were rampant, some shapes just looked like blurs. Over them, came an itching, as hair erupted from his body–but again, mostly in patches. His chest remained fairly light, but the hair was thick and long on his shoulders, running down his back. He could feel his ass clumping up with sweaty hair, and while his upper arms remained thinly covered, his forearms were coated down to the back of his hands and onto his fingers. Lastly, he noticed that his facial hair had thickened–his mutton chops growing higher on his cheeks, his eyebrows thickening into a single, heavy mass of hair over his eyes.

“We’ll have to do something about that physique as well, of course,” Walter said, running his gloved hand over Donny’s hairy shoulder, “and your proportions are just…too damn sexy as well. That silhouette could rouse some dirty thoughts if we don’t do something about it.”

This time, the ache was all inside of his body. His muscles felt like someone was twisting them, milking the strength from them, draining it from his body. As he watched, he…just began to deflate. His arms lost the most mass, he thought, as did his legs, looking more like toothpicks compared to what he’d had moments before. He lost all of his definition in his chest, and when the fat started to pile on, he ended up with two full mantits and a potbelly. Still–something else was off as well. His legs seemed too short, and were bowing outward. His arms hung down too low. His torso seemed scrunched, and his head sat right on his shoulders–barely enough neck for his collar to wrap around, if you could see it under his second chin. His face had puffed out with fat, making his head look even wider, his square jaw dissolving into a mass of indiscriminate flab. Other details were smaller–his feet were bigger–close to a size 18, which his hands seemed…way too small. His shoulders weren’t nearly as broad, giving him even more of a lumpy shape. His ass was flabby, but it sagged down in a rather disgusting fashion. His clothes fit even worse now–his gut poking out from his wifebeater, a crescent of tan indicating that he should get used to exposing it. His pants kept falling down even with a bigger waist because he had no ass–everytime he bent over he’d be showing off his hairy crack. At his shorter height, the pant legs were pooling around his feet…but his eyes kept being drawn back to his Master standing behind him, and the look of unexpected disgust across his face.

Indeed, even Walter was having a difficult time looking at what he’d done. There was simply something so…off about his body. Donny didn’t even seem human any more. He didn’t like it, and he didn’t want to be around it. He took a step back, but the curse redoubled inside him, sensing the resistance.

“Don’t lie to yourself, you enjoy this.”

“He’s disgusting.”

“He’s yours. That’s what you wanted. You don’t have to like looking at him. In fact, you don’t want to like looking at him, The more disgusting he is, the easier he is to hate. You hate him, you want to hate him.”

“This…I didn’t think–”

You hate him. You want to see that thing suffer. You want to make it suffer.”

The hatred which welled up in his chest–it wasn’t his. It felt like someone had taken his heart and dropped it into a bucket of freezing ice water. He didn’t want to be this person. He didn’t want to be enjoying this, but he was enjoying it. What use was there in fighting it? “I do hate him. I just…never realized how much.”

“Then finish it. Make him the embodiment of that hatred. Make him everything you hate, and then, you can be free.”

No One Else Will Want You Now (Part 6)

“I don’t…this shouldn’t be possible, none of this should be happening.”

“You’re not answering my question, slave.”

“Please, you don’t have to do this. I’m your slave! No one’s going to–”

Walter grabbed Donny by the lock on his collar, and hauled him up to his feet, before grabbing him by his filthy locks, and dragging him over the bed, yanking him so he was face down and bent over. A paddle was in his hand. He had no idea how it had gotten there, but like the boots, like the cigars, it had simply appeared when he’d needed it. He realized, again, that he was changing too, and he hesitated with the paddle, unsure of what he was doing, but after a moment, he swung back, and slammed it into Donny’s ass, enjoying the howl that followed. “I’m not going to be tolerating any back talk. I’m not going to tolerate any disobedience. I own you, and I…will shape you into whatever I need you to become,” Walter said, his own voice unsettling him. It hadn’t sounded like him–it had sounded like that voice in his head earlier…and somehow it had felt like the words had been directed at him, as much as at Donny. “Now count, you fuck. Slaves always count.”

Ten heavy slams with the paddle, enough to raise welts, enough to leave his skin red and angry. Donny was crying–it was clear he’d never experienced anything like this before, and again, Walter wanted to feel sorry for him, wanted to pull back, but the curse shoved him away, climbed up onto the bed, and yanked his slave’s head up by the hair. “There must have been more that he liked about you, fucker. No one would fuck you for your fucking hair. If he liked your hair, I bet he liked your beard, didn’t he? The color, how well trimmed you keep it. Well fuck that shit.”

Donny could feel the hair on his face shifting, his beard parting down the center and pulling back from his mouth until it was just a pair of muttonchops remaining with nothing around his mouth, trimmed at an awkward, uneven line. Then, the hair began to grow, curling and puffing out, the color dulling to the same dingy brown as his hair.

“That’s better–no one in their right mind is going to find something like that sexy. Now, tell me–why the fuck did he want you? Why the fuck did he want to see scum like you three times a month?”

“He liked fucking being with me!” Donny seethed, “He said he always felt stylish when he was with me, fucking hip. He felt like a cool kid. He said I was charming and smart. He said I was funny. Fuck you–sometimes we didn’t even fuck, we just talked for hours. He loved me–he told me that. You sentimental fucks.”

“You’re being disrespectful, slave,” Walter said, and slammed the paddle down on his ass again, making him cry out.

“Please sir, I’m sorry sir, please.”

“Count–from one again.”

Twenty more this time, plus two extra when the slave missed the count. When he was finished, Walter set the paddle back on his chair, and took a long inhale of smoke, thinking, and imagining, and scheming. “Stylish and hip.” he said, walked back over to the bed, and rolled Donny over onto his back, seeing him flinch when his ass touched the sheets. “Charming, smart, and funny.” Walter ran a gloved hand over Donny’s skin, lightly, knowing he’d be the last one to touch it. “Not for too much longer, I don’t think.”

Donny tried to speak, but he felt it, his body…shifting, his mind–it was like a splitting headache, ripping his head apart.

“I don’t think someone who cares so little about their own hygiene could ever be considered stylish. More like slovenly and lazy.”

He could smell himself, suddenly–he reeked. It wasn’t just that he was unwashed, it was everything he’d done to take care of himself, all of his routines–deodorant, cologne, lotion–he couldn’t remember any of it. Why would he ever bother with shit like that? But he’d smelled his own BO before–and this was far worse than anything he’d ever put off in the past. Each time he caught a whiff, he just felt…ashamed that he would let himself stink like that, but knowing with as much certainty that he’d never lift a finger to do anything about it.

“I mean you do have a style. I’d call it dirty labor chic. Wifebeaters, ripped jeans and boots coated with mud and grit. Even when you’re naked, we can all see your tanlines, slave–we know what you are. Lips packed with that nasty tobacco of yours, juice leaking down your chin all the time. Not exactly a look that’ll be featured on magazines anytime soon.”

Donny lifted up his head, feeling his lip bulge out with a wad of tobacco–he tried to spit it out, but only ended up dribbling dark spit down his now bare chin. He did have a tanline–his arms a burnt orange, which his chest and belly were a pale white. It was clear what he wore, day in and day out now, under the sun. But other details too–his broken and cracked nails with dirt packed beneath, making them look black or brown.

“As for charming. As for smart. As for funny. We know the truth, don’t we? That crude language of yours you’ve picked up from being on worksites your whole life. That stutter. Even if that drop-out mind of yours had anything smart to say, you can’t get it out half the time. Plus you’re so dull, you still haven’t realized you’re the butt of every joke on the worksite.”

All Donny could do was shake his head side to side, but he could feel it, his mind collapsing in on itself, sharp edges dulling, the world seeming so…simple all of a sudden. S-Shit M-M-Master. I ain’t got shit in my f-f-f-fuckin’ head. You f-f-f–f…Shit, I’m fuckin’ not a s-stupid f-f-faggot.”

Walter just laughed his head off, and under his mutton chops, Donny’s cheeks flared as red as his heavily tanned shoulders. He was a stupid faggot, but he could also tell that Walter wasn’t satisfied that his third condition had been entirely met just yet.

Why the fuck was he doing this, Hugh screamed in his head as he shoved his nose deeper into the stinking boot, snorting up as much of his neighbor’s musk as he possible could, his cock hard and leaking in his jeans. He’d always considered himself an alpha, a true man–and an alpha most certainly did not helplessly sniff a fat fuck’s nasty work boots, and get hard while he did it.

“See? I told ya,” his neighbor, Clark, said. He sat forward so he could pull out the can of chaw from the back pocket of his grungy coveralls he always wore, take out a wad, and tuck it in his lip–but his beard was so thick you couldn’t even see the bulge. “Knew a fuck like ya wouldn’ be able tah help yerself.”

They were in Hugh’s garage, where Hugh spent most of his free time working on his trucks. Clark had been passing by on the way to the mailbox when the two of them had gotten into a bit of an argument–and Clark had ended up taking off his ripe boots…and as soon as Hugh had smelt them, he’d been unable to resist them. Hugh managed to haul his face free for a moment, drool running down his chin, but he just fell back in, pushing his face in even deeper.

“Don’ feel too bad that ya lost–ya ain’t the first, ya won’ be the last.”

“Please, let me stop!” Hugh shouted into the boot.

“But ya don’ wanna stop, do ya? Ya can’t have those one though, I ain’t done wit’ ‘em. Got lots a other stuff back home ya can keep though–trust me, once ya gots a taste…ya ain’t gonna be able tah stop. Just wait til ya gets a sniff a mah jock–yer gonna be a brand new man–in fact, git over here.”

Thankfully, Hugh could take his head out of the boot, but he found himself crawling towards his fat, smelly neighbor, watching him zip his coverall down to his crotch and part the sides of the suit, revealing the filthiest pouch of a jock Hugh had ever seen…but he couldn’t stop himself from shoving his face in, huffing his neighbor’s fumes–no…no, his Master’s stink, yeah, his Master.

Hugh wasn’t quite himself from that day forward, but he didn’t mind. Instead of working on his trucks, he spent most of his downtime over at his Master’s house–along with most of the other men from the neighborhood. But what choice did he have? He needed to smell his Master, right? He needed to smell a real man, to remind him of his proper place in the world–at that man’s feet.

Snake Oil (2 of 2)

“What the fuck did you give us, you fucker!” Nick said, dragging the old man behind his booth at the fair, Anthony beside him. Their changes had progressed further, both of them now approaching middle age, their muscles much weaker–but not so weak they couldn’t kick this fucker’s ass if he didn’t give them an antidote.

“Ah! You must be the young man from earlier,” the man said with a laugh, “I see the sample I gave you is working nicely.”

“What the fuck are you talking about? It didn’t work at all!”

“Oh nonsense–it’s working exactly as it’s supposed to. Looking at you both, you’re here right on time–the second stage should be starting any moment…yeah, look at your friend there.”

Nick looked over at Anthony, but his friend was just standing there, slackjawed, almost like he was in a trance…but the bulge in his friend’s pants drew his attention next. What the hell was wrong with his bulge! It seemed…massive all of a…sudden. Nick’s mind was clouding over, dulling, and he released his hold on the old man, feeling a pleasant warmth in his pants too, but a…pressure too.

“Yes, very good you two. Follow me, and let’s get you both milked.”

Helpless to disobey, both Nick and Anthony followed the man to a trailer parked against the side of the fair and went inside with him. He sat them both in a chair, strapped them in, opened up their pants, and they saw what was the matter–their ball’s had swollen up to three or four times their original size.

“See, I do, in fact, sell a muscle growth serum, but business has been so good this year, I’ve been running out, so I needed someone to help me resupply my wares. All that youthful muscle? It’s in those sacks of yours, and you’re going to give it to me.”

Both men tried to protest, as the man put milking tubes over their cocks, and started the process of sucking the cum from their sacks. “No–you can’t…we’ll…tell…”

“You won’t be telling anyone anything,” the older man said, “You won’t remember a thing when I’m through with you both. Nope, the only thing the two of you will remember is your new lives as a couple of dumb, old, faggot carnies. I’ll help you fit the part of course–grow out your beards a bit, tone down the hygiene, soften your minds, make you both smokers and drinkers–I think cigars and whiskey for you both. I have lots of wares that will be perfect for you both.”

They both tried to fight, but there was nothing they could do–and when they both stumbled out of the trailer a few hours later, in their filthy clothes, smoking their cigars like they’d been doing it for years, the two old men found a bit of privacy and fucked each other for the first of many, many times.

Deal of a Lifetime (Part 2)

“So wait–you take that part of me,” Carl pointed at the cage, “And I get…something else instead? But what do I get?”

The man laughed, “Ah, well, I’m afraid that’s dealer’s choice. I don’t take money, I’m afraid–I provide this service because I enjoy it. Because I like helping men like yourself live more interesting and exciting lives, but you shouldn’t focus on what you will be if you take the deal–think about what you’ll be if you don’t.” He gave the cage a kick, and the thing in there yelped. “Do you really want to let this thing control your life anymore? Look at where it’s gotten you–fucking nowhere, and you were going nowhere fast. Let’s be fucking honest, Carl–you were never going to go down to that pool. You might get drunk and have an awkward, terrible hookup with some rando, but then it’s back to the wife, back to straight acting, back to being a coward.”

“It wasn’t…that bad.”

“Oh please, you don’t have to defend the thing. We both know you were miserable. You know that anything would be better than that–admit it.”

“Please, ya can’t!” it said, gripping the bars, “We got a whole life tahgether! Ya can’t just throw it all away, don’t that terrify ya?”

Surprisingly, it didn’t terrify him at all, actually. The very idea of just being free thrilled him. He could finally be free of everything that he’d always believed to be holding him back…but that didn’t make him any less leery of trusting the man. “If I don’t like it, can I get my old life back?”

“Sorry, but I don’t offer refunds or exchanges. If you take the deal–that’s what you get. I can promise you, that if you accept it, you’ll love it before too long–you won’t even be able to imagine things being different. This old life of yours will just seem like a distant, terrible dream.”

“But what do you get out of this?” Carl asked, “I mean, why do it?”

The man scowled a bit, “If you don’t want to take me up on the offer, I’ll just let him back out, and be on my way.” A key appeared in his hand and he went to unlock the cage, the other him inside, that terrible bundle of everything he hated, started clawing at the door, desperate to be free again, and the terror that welled up in him at the thought of living with that thing still, especially knowing he had a chance to be rid of it–he hurried over and stopped him from unlocking the padlock. “No! No…I’ll take the deal.”

“Ya fuck! How could ya do this tah me, ya fucker!” the thing in the cage screamed, but the man smiled.

“That’s a good man,” the stranger said, and shook Carl’s hand, “Looks like we have ourselves a deal. Now let me introduce you to your new companion.”

Carl heard something between a grunt and a squeal as some massive thing barrelled into him from behind, pinning him down, and then he was flailing in the covers, awake again, sitting up on the bed, panting, wondering what in the world he’d just dreamt. Had that been real, or just some fucked up fantasy his mind had created? He certainly didn’t feel any different–or look any different…but maybe there was one way he could test it.

“My name is Carl Fields, and holy hell, I sound like a normal fucking person!” he exclaimed. His accent was gone, just like in the dream–could it have actually been real then? But what about the end of it? If the trade really had happened, then what had he gotten in exchange? Whatever it was, it didn’t seem to have done anything to him or changed him thus far–but what he really felt like doing was hitting that pool, and hitting on a few guys. The shame and terror which had kept him glued to his room thus far had evaporated, and he wanted to get out there. He got off the bed, but doubled over, his stomach cramping with a sudden cramp of hunger–and all he could think of was food. Hunger, starvation–he needed to eat before anything else! Still, he couldn’t very well go downstairs naked. The clothes he’d had on earlier–jeans and a grubby Carhartt t-shirt with a leather Harley jacket–were lying there on the floor. He bent down to pick them up, but as soon as he grabbed them, he saw the fabric…shudder and shift in his hands, changing into something else entirely. The jeans softened, becoming a flimsier pinstripe fabric even as they grew–tripling in size, suspenders appearing where his belt had been moments before. His shirt cleaned up, sleeves growing to full length as the front split, becoming a button down with a stiff collar, and his jacket turned into a suit coat matching the pattern of his pants. “What in all goodness is this? I don’t remember wearing anything like this before…and this certainly isn’t my size–they’re all much too large for me…” he said, but his voice had shifted, becoming stiff–almost snobby and a bit nasal. Something was definitely happening to him–but what?

The pain in his stomach struck him again, even more violently, crumpling him to the floor, but it was the pain in his mind which was even worse. There was someone–or something–inside of him. Something new. It had spent the last couple of minutes realizing that it was free, that it was back in a real body, and now it felt like it was storming through him, rearranging the furniture of his body and mind to it’s personal fancy, and all Carl could do was find every scrap of himself he could and hold on tight, hoping and praying he might still recognize himself when this was finished–hoping that he’d still want to be himself when this was finished, hoping that he hadn’t just made the worst deal of his entire life.

Deal of a Lifetime (Part 1)

All the planning, all the lying, all the panic and stress and upset, and he was here, and he was so fucking nervous, all he could do was stand on the balcony looking down at the hotel pool where every bear had converged the moment the convention started. All of them aside from Carl, or at least that’s how it seemed. He got another buzz from his pocket, and checked his phone–another couple of notifications from growlr, another couple of guys down there who wanted to know where he was, if he was down to fuck, if he had that camo hunting gear from his profile photo with him, and if he’d dress up for them. He’d dreamed of this for so long, he’d dreamed of finally taking a chance, slipping away, and being here where he could be…himself, but all he felt was paralyzed. He was only 50 miles from home, people knew he was here (not here, of course, at the convention, but here visiting a “cousin” he hadn’t seen in some years). What if someone saw him? What if someone else from town was here too? He looked up from the pool, and his gut bottomed out, when he saw someone on a balcony opposite his staring at him.

He…wasn’t quite Carl’s type–he liked a guy with a bit more chub and padding than the muscular fucker there looking at him, but the sheer…masculine confidence the guy was exuding made Carl feel both insecure and incredibly turned on. He met his eyes for a few moments, but couldn’t for longer than that, and no longer felt comfortable standing there, just being…ogled. He retreated back into his room, stared at the swimsuit he’d laid out on the bed, thought about it again, and then just sat down on the edge, wondering why he was doing any of this. He was too desperate to be out that he couldn’t handle pretending to be that straight redneck one more day, but he’s too terrified of being found out and losing what little he had to do anything with the opportunity he’d taken. He felt…trapped. Still, he should at least…give it a try…

He yawned, his eyes fluttering a bit. Maybe he should take a nap. It had been a long drive, and he’d feel better after some rest, he was sure. He stripped down naked, finding it harder and harder to keep his eyes open, the room was spinning around him, and he fell back onto the bed askew, his entire body feeling impossibly heavy. Dimmy, he thought he heard the sound of his hotel room door opening and closing again, along with the sound of footsteps. He tried to call out, but he was just so sleepy all of a sudden, and the last thing he saw, before his eyes flickered shut, was the face of the man from the other balcony looming over his, a bright twinkle in his steel grey eyes as Carl fell into a deep sleep.

When he opened his eyes again, after what felt like a single blink, he wasn’t in the hotel room anymore. Hell, he wasn’t…anywhere. There was just a dark expanse all around him, with no discernible light source, but he could still…see something there, a few yards away, though it was difficult to make out what it was, exactly. He walked over towards it, and figured out that it was a cage–rather small, large enough for a big dog for a small human–and there was something inside of it–no, someone inside of it. It shuffled around as he approached, revealing itself to be a naked, middle aged man, but when their eyes met–no, how could that be possible.

“Please, jus’ let me out! This was a fuckin’ mistake, jus’ go home–ya can still pretend that this never happened, ya can still be a good husband tah Erin.”

It was himself. He was in the cage, but he was also standing here too. He didn’t quite know how to explain what he was witnessing, trying to process it, trying to figure out some way to reply, when a heavy hand rested down on his shoulder. He looked behind him, and found himself with the man from the balcony across the way. “Hello Carl–I see you’ve already been introduced to yourself.”

“Don’t listen tah him–don’t fuckin’ listen tah him, just fuckin’ git me outta here!”

“I don’t…understand…” Carl said, and noticed that his voice was missing its usual accent–the same one the thing in the cage had. He’d always hated it, thinking it made him sound like an idiot, and suddenly it was just gone?

“I’ll do my best to keep this rather simple, Carl–for both of you,” the stranger walked over to the cage, the version of himself in there trying to shrink away from him, cowering in fear, “Carl–I’m a…merchant of sorts, but I don’t deal in conventional goods. No, I deal in people’s lives, their souls, their desires. See Carl, from the moment I saw you earlier, I knew you’d be perfect for my service. Haven’t you always felt so…trapped by your life? Unable to really let go and be free? Held back by…well…everything that’s in here?” he said, laying a hand on the top of the cage. “My offer is simple–I take this part of you, and in exchange, I give you something to replace it. A new life.”

“You mean…I’ll be someone else?”

“Mostly. I mean, I’m not taking all of you, so everything here?” the man said, pointing to the version of Carl outside the cage, “You’ll still be there, but everything in here will be gone, and you’ll have one of my exquisitely crafted personas instead to help you and guide you to a brand new life.”

Lost Boy (1 of 2)

Lee had done his best to put that weekend behind him. Hell, he’d done more than that–when he’d slipped through that strange fucker’s grasp, he’d done more than put it behind him, he’d tried to disappear. He hitched a ride out of town with the first trucker who’d take him, ended up fifty miles away from that god awful place, and tried to forget about what had happened to him, tried to forget about the…things that man had made him do. Had made him want to do. Part of that was trying to figure out who he was again–working out harder than he had, growing out a beard, and over the next few years, Lee settled down into the small town he’d drifted into–he had a girlfriend he was thinking about marrying, a steady job. Then, one Tuesday evening at the grocery store after work, there in the freezer aisle by the ice cream, Lee looked up and he saw him.

He froze. He didn’t know what to do–had he seen him? No–he was still walking away from him. Maybe he didn’t recognize him? What was he even doing here? Was he sure it was even the man? He abandoned his cart and headed for the exit, not caring. He didn’t care what kind of life he could build here, if that strange fucker could show up here, then Lee knew he wasn’t safe, not here, and maybe not anywhere, but–

“Lee? That is you, isn’t it?” A hand clapped down on his shoulder, freezing him in place, that…horrifically familiar comfort flowing into him, relaxing every tense muscle in his body, releasing every worry he’d had. Fuck, he’d…missed this. He’d forgotten how good it felt, having him just…touch him, even through his clothes. “Sweetie, I’m so glad I found you! You know, I thought you were just a weekend fling back then, but ever since you slipped off that night, I’ve always wanted to…reconnect with you again.”

The man’s hand drifted down to his bare arm, the comfort and pleasure tripling, now that it was skin on skin. “Please–I…” he tried to get out, but the man pulled his hand and turned Lee towards him, looking him in the eye, and nothing else mattered, but those eyes.

Asslickers Inc. (Part 6)

The dildo was quite small now, especially compared to the width of Judd’s ass. The white and blue had faded away from the shaft as it had shrunk, leaving just a pale, creamy rod which Ari slid in deep. “Why don’t we just let that melt for a bit?”

“Aww fuck…can’ believe ya fuckin’ turned me intah some dumbass redneck slob. Can’t believe how much I fuckin’ love it, fuck! I’d fuckin’ plow mah ass if I could, hot damn, what a pig…” Judd muttered to himself, gazing at his reflection. “Ya got anythin’ tah smoke round here? Could use somethin’…got an itch tah scratch.”

“Sorry, I don’t smoke. I can get you a beer though.”

“Fine, two cans though–’n just the cheap shit! Don’t need so sissy fuckin’ import shit. Real fuckin’ ‘Merican’s drink domestic!”

Ari just shook his head, and went into the kitchen, as a new taste flooded Judd’s mouth. It was like sweet whipped cream…but with a sour tinge, almost like yogurt, or…cum. Yeah, it was like sugary cum, that was it exactly! Fuck, it tasted pretty damn good–he wouldn’t mind some real cum, now that he was thinking about it. Ari returned, and since Judd’s body was still paralyzed and limp, He had to help the big lug drink the two cans down. A good amount ran down his chins and onto the rubber sheet, running around his filthy body, but he got a small buzz going–enough to ignore the growing need for tobacco in one form or another. “Thanks fucker–now git that cock in mah mouth–this pigs hungry fer some cum.”

“No kidding. Still, I want to check on the rest of the effects, and see how that’s working first.” Ari walked around behind him, and looked at Judd’s ball sack–which was tingling a bit, and Ari gave a few noises of approval. “Damn Judd–you’ve got quite the sack on you now! And better get used to having the crotches of your overalls wet, because that cock of yours will be leaking at the first sight of a guy’s cock you want.”

“Yeah? Well I fuckin’ want yers! Now git round here, ‘n fuckin’ feed me! This pig’s fuckin’ hungry.”

Judd didn’t actually get through the blow job before he fell asleep, thanks to the tranquilizers Ari had put in the beers. Still, he took pity on him, skull fucked his fat, bearded face and buried deep into his throat, pumping his gut full of a load, and then got up off the bed, found his phone, and made a call.

“Got a pickup for you. He’s asleep….Sure thing, one hour.”

Overall, a successful test–as good as he could hope for really. He could review the tapes later, and decide on what changes he might make to the product line–but for now, it was nearly four in the morning, and he needed to sleep. He managed an hour nap, before the crew arrived, marched in, bundled up Judd and carted him off out of the apartment–Ari didn’t know where they took them when he finished with them, and he didn’t really want to know. All he really wanted, was a nice long sleep–and when he woke up? He’d pick another target, and conduct his next test in next week.

Judd woke up to a pounding headache, and with a groan, rolled over in the tight queen bed that barely contained his bulk, and wondered where, exactly, he was. He should be home…right? Was this his home? He had fuzzy memories of some crazy dream, but they were already fading–he sat up, belched, gave his furry pit a scratch and sniff, before hauling himself up and squeezing through the tight trailer, finding the filthy bathroom where he pissed mostly into the toilet, and then started scrounging around for something to smoke. The only thing he found was a can of chewing tobacco, so he hauled out a thick wad of the dark leaf and shoved it in his mouth, feeling better as he gnawed on it, dark spit rolling out the side of his mouth and down into his beard. Beer next–then breakfast. Then he could worry about how he’d ended up here.

Still, by the time he’d gotten four beers in his gut, cooked up a pile of eggs and potatoes and scarfed the whole thing down, his brain had managed to catch up–and he realized he was home. After all, it didn’t make sense for him to be anywhere else…and he’d probably just drank a bit too much, and fucked up his head, like usual.

Breakfast hadn’t quite sated all of his hungers, however, and he hauled up his massive gut and started proding at his cock–turnin’ on the cumtap as he liked to call it. His balls were massive–at least the size of two grapefruits, and the cum streamed out of him in a torrent–fast enough for him to hang off a chair, milk his cock with one hand, hold a big glass in the other, and guzzle down a full cup of fresh jizz every few minutes. His milking routine was interrupted by an unfamiliar ringtone–he dug through the filth of the trailer for a few moments, hunted down the years out of date flip phone, and answered it with a long, drawled hello.

“God fuckin’ damn it Judd, where the fuckin’ hell are ya? This god damn truck ain’t gonna drive itself, ‘n yer half an hour late n’–fuck, from the way yer pantin’, were ya milkin’ yerself again?”

“I don’t know…who ya are, but…” Judd stammered.

“Shut the fuck up pig! If ya weren’t such a cum hungry faggot, I’d a canned yer worthless fat ass months ago. Git here now, fucker–’n if ya don’t got her nasty mouth round mah cock in twenty minutes, yer gonna be findin’ another fuckin’ job!”

Memories were falling into place again–that was his boss–Heathrow Midstel–and the owner of one of the biggest, fattest cocks Judd had ever seen. Trucking wasn’t something he liked to do–but if he got to drink his boss’ cum on a regular basis, he’d manage. Grumbling, he hauled on a pair of filthy overalls, the crotch stained dark and stiff with cum, threw on some boots, and went out to his old beat up truck. It wasn’t a perfect life–but it was the only one he had…and if Judd was honest, it was the only life he wanted now too.

Asslickers Inc. (Part 5)

Jules didn’t like the sound of that. “Why? Are you just going to keep me here? As some fucking freak for you to play with?”

“Oh goodness no, you’re pretty much used up at this point I’m afraid. Testing is always better on a fresh canvas–I can get a better feel for the effects. That said, I can’t just keep you here–I’d be drowning in you fucks before too long, with the amount of testing I have to do to get these models ready for production. Still, you’re not completely worthless at this point, so don’t feel too bad. You can still test one of the biggies.”

“The biggies?”

“Oh yeah–these ones are real impressive. Some of my best work! Not entirely sure I’d be able to pull them off, when Arctos asked me for them, but they actually work quite well at this point. Now, you’re going to get a rather special one–a new combo I’ve worked out just last week, and I’m excited to see how it works.” He walked back to the wall, and returned with a sizable shaft, this one with a rather uneven texture, and colored a dirty, greenish brown. It didn’t look particularly appealing, and he certainly didn’t want it going in his ass at all. “What in the world does that thing do?”

“This one? Well, this is the grand finale! It’s part of a new line I’m calling assbreakers–it’s got two mystery flavors inside as well, which you’ll discover soon enough. Still, it’s late, and I’m tired, so let’s get this thing in you, and see if it works how I hope it will.”

“No, look, please–I don’t want to change anymore! You can have the money, just…I don’t know, don’t do this to me again.”

“Sorry Jules, but this is the last one. You’ll love it too–or at least, you should by the time we’re finished with it.”

“But I don’t want–” he grunted, as the thick shaft pushed into his loose hole. It wasn’t as large as the massive one had been, but when the taste flooded his mouth a moment later, he gagged, trying to spit it out. “Fuck, what the fuck is this? It tastes vile!” It was like someone had wadded up an extremely filthy and sweaty pair of underwear into his mouth, or like hi tongue had been glued to the armpit of that one gymrat who never wore deodorant and never wiped the machines down after he was finished. It was filthy, and he couldn’t escape it. Ari pushed it all the way in, and then started pistoning it in and out, eager to be finished with this. Jules noticed that he was starting to sweat profusely, all over his body–his hair becoming matted, greasy and tangled–and then he belched, the smell roiling up out of him in a thick cloud of gas, and he was appalled by it…and yet…enjoyed it a bit, too. Fuck, no, he wasn’t going to enjoy this, he wasn’t going to be some disgusting slob! He let of another belch, bigger than the last, and followed it up with some gas which slipped out around the dildo, Ari waving the stench away from his face.

“No, I’m not going to be some fucking disgusting slob, you twisted fucker!” he said, and belched again.

“Oh? Tell me Jules, when’s the last time you had a shower?”

“Just…I mean I think…” but his memory was failing him, because he didn’t take showers…right? No, why the hell would he take a shower? He loved his nasty stench! Jules shook his head, fighting the thoughts invading him, faster now, but they were changing him faster than he could even grapple with them. He could feel the filthy taste rotting his teeth, but he didn’t care–he let off another wet fart, and laughed, smelling his nasty pits wafting up to his nose.

“Think I got that layer a bit too think,” Ari said, sliding the dildo out, to check it’s progress. “Still, I don’t think you mind much, right Jules?”

“Nah, I don’t mind none–fuck!” Jules said, surprised by the long, slow drawl which had warped his words. “What in tarnation? Why’s I talkin’ like some dumbass hick?”

“Cause we hit the second layer a few minutes ago,” Ari said, sliding the dildo out, giving Jules a chance to see it in the mirror to his side. Sure enough, the greasy brown layer had all been absorbed by his now filthy body, and what remained below was a red, white and blue pattern–a red field, with blue stripes and white stars…just like the confederate flag. “Aww nah, git that fuckin’ thang outta mah fuckhole! I ain’t gonna be no fuckin’ redneck!”

“Now now Jules, mind your double negatives…” Ari said, and pushed the dildo back in. Sure enough, the taste in his mouth was shifting from rank filth, to a new medley–tobacco, cheap booze and liquor, hay, dust, grease…it tasted like…like home? No, not his home, but it did make him feel comfortable, or somehow at ease. That was a trap too, he realized, but it was difficult to resist–in the mirror, he saw his hair shifting slightly, the top shortening until what remained was a mullet, straight out of the 80’s and very long in the back. He also knew…somehow, that underneath all that fur of his, he’d find all sorts of tattoos he’d picked up over the years–but the only ones he could see easily were the confederate flags on the sides of his flabby neck. it was getting harder to think–which wasn’t surprising. After all, Judd hadn’t gone to any sort of college–hell, he hadn’t even graduated from high school!

He was confused for a moment, about who Judd was, before he realized that was his name. But it wasn’t really, right? He’d had a different name, something else–but as hard as he tried to remember it, the further it drifted from his grasp, leaving him with Judd–and Judd’s dull life. Growing up in a trailer park, drinking and chewing tobacco, getting a job as a trucker which barely paid the bills, hooking up with other nasty pigs and bikers at rest stops to get his nuts off. His old memories of offices and city life had disappeared before he could even think to miss them, leaving him grunting and groaning, demanding that Ari, “Pick up the goddamn pace, ya fucker! Pound that nasty confederate hole a mine real fuckin’ good., fuck yeah…”

“Heh, looks like that layer’s all finished,” Ari said, checking what remained of the shaft, “Guess we finally made it to the creamy center.”