Photo and Idea submitted by Bryan

These two college fucks–I know it was their frat bros or whatever who put them up to the prank to begin with. Cow tipping–who even tips fuckin’ cows anymore? Needless to say, I wasn’t very happy when I heard the commotion outside and went out with my shotgun, scared the two pansy ass kids half to death without even shooting anything. So I called the cops, and as soon as they figured out they might actually end up going to jail, well, let’s just say there were some tears involved, and so I offered them both a choice. Either they could go with the authorities and take their punishment that way, or they could work on my ranch on the weekends, and pay off their debt that way instead. I told them that they’d be mine from Friday night until Sunday evening, no exceptions, and if they missed even one weekend, then I’d be pressing charges on them both. They were desperate, and they knew I knew they were desperate, and so they agreed, figuring it was still better than jail.

Course, I couldn’t just let something like this go unpunished, you know? Now I might look like a simple redneck to you, but even this simple redneck has some tricks up his sleeves. My grandpa was a magician, years ago, and he gave me his hypnotist’s watch–and trust me, the thing’s damn effective if you know what you’re doing. Pretty soon, the two of them were loving their work on the farm, even though neither of them could quite remember what kind of work they were doing in particular, because if either of them could remember…well, I doubt they’d be happy about it.

Still, I’m pretty happy with my new pup and pig. Aren’t they adorable? Of course, I can’t change them too much right now, I have to make sure they’re still presentable when they head back to class during the week, but I think both of them are realizing they suddenly don’t quite have the minds for college. Nope, pig here spends all week stuffing himself silly, and pup here is too busy humping anything he can find, preferably pig’s leg or rump, to focus on class work. Both of them have already agreed to keep working for me all summer long, and I have no doubt that neither of them will be returning to classes in the fall. I hadn’t really planned on keeping them, but let’s just say I’ve grown pretty attached to both of their holes, and I don’t think they’ll be leaving my ranch for quite a long time, not that they’ll care soon enough.

Family Portrait (Part 2)

Another touchdown! Both Keith and Marty threw their arms up, shouting with excitement. Their team was doing great, and Keith couldn’t be happier if he’d tried, sitting here with his favorite person, his brother, watching the game with him. He grinned over at him, grabbed another handful of potato chips and shoved the whole wad into his mouth, chewing loudly with his mouth open, washing it all down with his seventh can of beer, a huge belch rumbling out of his fat belly. He gave it a pat, feeling it jiggle and wiggle around him. It felt…damn good, actually. Like Marty had told him, he’d always been a fat ass–he couldn’t stop eating if he fucking tried, he loved it so much–drinking too–and it showed, nearly six hundred pounds of flab, but he didn’t care. Like Marty said, he found it…kind of hot, actually.

He still wasn’t feeling quite like himself though. Ever since he’d sat down and started watching the game, he’d felt…almost like he was in a dream. Marty was there for him though, reminding him to get the snacks and beer, talking with him while they waited through replays, about all sorts of things. Like…like his lucky jersey. He’d worn in for years, ever since their team had won the superbowl, and he wore it for every game, religiously. He never washed it, so it stank to high hell, and was easily three sizes too small at this point, but it just didn’t feel right not wearing it, right? In fact, Marty had been doing most–or rather, all of the talking. Keith had focused on cheering during the game–with how hard it was to think, he didn’t feel capable of keeping up a conversation at the moment. Besides, it was more important for him to listen to Marty. Marty was the smart one, the clever one…but his eyes kept going to the clock next to their family portrait, and Marty noticed.

“Worried about the time, bro?” Marty asked him.

“Just…wondering when…Tara and the boys…” he said, but couldn’t complete the thought through the haze in his head.

Marty smacked his head and scowled at himself. Fuck, he’d forgotten–that would have made a mess of things for sure. “Why in the hell would that bitch be coming here? She hates your guts. The two of you haven’t laid eyes on each other since that last time she dragged you to court over missing your alimony payments. You’re lucky you didn’t lose partial custody over that shit.”

Keith looked at his brother, confused…but he…he was right. Tara hated him, and she kind of had good reason to. “Yeah…don’t know…why I’d thought…”

“Don’t worry about it bro, you hate women anyway. They fucking disgust you. The only people you want to spend time around is family. Especially me, your best friend. Your best big brother in the whole world. You love me more than anyone, right?”

Keith nodded and grinned at him, letting off another belch.

“Yeah, you’re just a fuckin’ deadbeat dad, really. Can’t hold down a job–doesn’t help that you dropped out of school, still, considering how stupid you are, that ain’t surprising. Luckily we could move in together–I support you, but that’s ok. There’s nothing you’d rather do, aside from lounging around the house, naked all the time, stuffing your face, drinking beer, watching TV, and loving me.”

This time, even Marty could feel it, the changes sweeping through them. The house around them began rotting–there was no way either of them could live in a neighborhood like that, after all. Still, served the fucker right, Marty thought. They ended up in a double wide trailer in some rundown park–still nicer than pretty much anywhere Marty had lived before, and it felt like home, his brother splayed out on the couch next to him, completely naked aside from his lucky jersey, eyes glued to the TV.

“Oh, and smoking cigars, of course. You couldn’t live without those.”

The air grew dank and smoky all of a sudden, and Keith sucked deep off his cheap cigar. Smiling, amazed at how well the portrait was working, Marty leaned forward and lit a cigar for himself, sighing smoke out, groping his cock through his filthy shorts, wondering how much further he could push this before getting down to business. Hell, why not now? He could remember how big Keith’s cock had been when they were teenagers, and it had only gotten bigger–but no fucking way did he deserve a tool like that, not after what he did.

“The smoking, the food, the beer–it makes you fucking horny too, right bro? So fucking horny all the time. Too bad you can’t find your inch long cock in all that flab of yours. Just makes you sex crazed all the time, leaking cum everywhere, desperate for release.” He watched Keith start panting, heaving smoke, sweating, crotch damp with precum, “Luckily you have a big brother to take care you, right? Help you out?” He reached over and dug around in keith’s new gunt, finding his miniscule cock, stroking it, watching his obese brother spasm with pleasure. “And luckily you’ll do anything your perverse big brother wants you to do, right? You love satisfying all of my sick, disgusting fantasies. At heart, you’re all bottom. A sex crazed pig, aching to have all of your holes stuffed at all hours. That’s the only way you can cum, with a big cock in your ass or buried in your throat, while you grunt and snort like a pig.”

Keith didn’t make it to halftime, before he tore into his brother’s shorts and started sucking on his cock. He ended up bent over the couch, his brother balls deep in his sloppy hole, dull mind desperate for sex, cock leaking like a faucet onto the already well stained couch. His eyes–he felt them pulled up, to the portrait on the wall. The background, it was swirling again, but his image–it was becoming clearer now–no longer blurry. His massive frame barely contained by his favorite jersey, wearing a pair of massive sweats. His shaven head and face looking even larger, three chins drooping under his thick handlebar mustache, a stupid grin on his face, leaning on his brother, his big brother, the best big brother in the world. With a snap, the portrait froze in place, and it was like all of him came alive again. With a holler, his tiny cock spurted a load into his fatty folds, and Marty shot deep in his filthy brother’s hole, and looked up at the photo. A good start, for sure–but there was still so much room in the portrait. Luckily, he had a few ideas for other people he could add to their family–starting with his new nephews. He knew that they would be so much happier away from their bitch mother for good and living with their dad and uncle, where they really belonged.

Family Portrait (Part 1)

It was…quiet. It was never quiet, not around here. Keith breathed a sigh in his empty house–as happy as he was at the family he’d made for himself, between Tara and his three sons, that also didn’t leave him very much time at all for himself. The place had been getting quitter, however. With his two oldest sons in their second and third years of college–at the state school a few hours away at least, and his youngest son, a senior in high school, out with Tara running errands on a fall Saturday for a few hours, he had the house to himself. He had it to himself, and he had absolutely no idea what he should be doing with his chance. It was funny, really. He so often wished for more private time, and now when the chance came, he had no clue how to spend it. He sighed–not really a bad problem to have, he supposed.

He was interrupted by a loud, heavy knocking on the front door. Curious who it might be, he walked to the door and opened it, finding a strange man on the porch he had never seen before in his life. He was none too clean, dressed in a pair of stained camo cargo shorts and a wifebeater, with a thick overgrown beard. He was carrying a large…something under his arm, wrapped in paper. Something rectangular and flat–but he had no idea what. “Hey! What’s up? I’m your new neighbor down the road there, just moved in a few days ago. Name’s Marty.”

“Oh, uh…hi. I’m Keith…Keith Ireland. Nice…to meet you,” he replied, not taking the man’s hand when he extended it out to shake. How someone who looked like this could possibly afford a house in a neighborhood where Keith lived…something seemed a bit odd about this, and he wasn’t about to let him inside his house. “Where…which house did you move into? I wasn’t aware anyone was moving.”

“Oh, just a few houses down.”

“I didn’t see any moving trucks or anything though.”

“Really?”

Keith just raised an eyebrow at him.

“Well look, I just wanted to say…hi. My wife, she’s an artist, and we always have too many things of hers, so we like to give our new neighbors some of her artwork. If you don’t like it, you don’t have to keep it or anything–her stuff isn’t for everyone, but it’s nice, right?” He held out the paper wrapped picture to him, and as strange as this was, Keith didn’t want to seem mean, especially if the guy really was his neighbor. He could always take a look, and then give it right back. He tore open the paper and flipped the picture so it was facing him. It was a sizable canvas, probably at least three feet wide, landscape, but there wasn’t much at all in the picture itself. In fact, it wasn’t even a painting–it was a photo. It looked like one of those cheap portraits you might get a Sears or something, but the only person in the picture was Marty, centered but small. Like it was supposed to be a family portrait but he was the only one who showed up. He looked closer, trying to figure out who could possibly see this as valuable, and discovered that the background of the photo…it was moving. The backdrop pattern…it was alive, twisting and ebbing back and forth–he couldn’t look away even if he’d wanted to. It felt like the pattern was growing in his field of vision, almost giving the illusion of falling into the photo, his mind emptying.

Marty watched his “neighbor’s” eyes grow dull and his jaw go slack, and he walked around him, stepping inside the threshold of the home, looking at the family portrait. The photo was indeed shifting and twisting, in one particular place–a figure coming clear standing beside Marty–quite blurry, and yet if you squinted you could see that it was Keith appearing in the image. The focus became a bit sharper, but never came fully clear, Marty taking a moment to inspect Keith, see how he’d changed all these years.

Keith obviously hadn’t recognized him, but they’d both been very different back in high school together. They even, at one time, been friends–with a few benefits. Keith was bi–and he’d let Marty suck his cock on a few occasions, but when they’d gotten caught, he pinned the whole thing on Marty–claiming he’d been “corrupting” him. Marty had no one after that–he’d gotten expelled from school, and kicked out by his family. But now, well, Marty had a little revenge planned for his old friend. He’d gotten by as best he could, but Marty had made a few new, strange friends along the way…including a warlock who specialized in revenge spells. He’d made the portrait Keith was currently staring at–and which was absorbing his image. It was Keith’s fault that he’d lost his entire family after all. As far as Marty was concerned, that meant Keith could provide him with a new one—a better one. One Marty was going to design just for himself.

It had been long enough now–the rest was up to him. He landed a heavy hand on Keith’s shoulder, making him start and jump, his mind snapping back to awareness, eyes blinking, trying to understand what had just happened to him. “What do you think bro?” Marty asked, “Ain’t that a good picture of us?”

Keith’s eyes moved from the portrait in his hands, and looked beside him, at his…his brother. His brother Marty. Something was still wrong with his mind–it felt like part of him was…missing. His eyes slowly tracked back to the picture, at the blurry image of himself in there. It looked like…like he was screaming in there. Marty pulled him back by the arm and shut the door, plucking the picture from Keith’s hands and pressing it to a nearby wall, where it adhered immediately. “Come on bro, the game’s almost on–I know you hate missing a game, right?”

Keith found himself nodding, even though he’d never in his life enjoyed watching football, and stumbled sleepily after his brother into the den, finding the portrait looming over him on a new wall in the den–it had moved somehow, haunting him–as Marty pushed him down onto the couch in front of the TV, grinning wide.

Joining the Family (Part 4)

All of us ended up waking up at about the same time, and went about trying to disentangle ourselves from one another. Unlike the night before, when everyone had been horny and out of their minds with lust, the morning was a much more sober affair–no one wanted to look anyone else in the eye, and Mikey couldn’t even glance at me, he just sat on the floor, head in his hands, mumbling something to himself. I wanted to tell him it was going to be alright, that we would get past it, but how could I tell him something like that? Decades of sobriety down the drain, just like that. I’d just fucked my own grandson–how in the hell could I ever get him to trust me again? How could I ever trust myself around him again? I didn’t know what to do, but I accepted a hand from the twin’s father, who helped me up, patted me on the shoulder, and he said “Welcome to the family, I’m sorry to say…” And then he walked into the bathroom, lighting a cigar along the way, and I heard him talking to himself cursing, and then he let off a thunderous belch, followed by a wet fart. “Hot damn, I’d been hoping that shit wasn’t gonna get any worse, fuck…”

The twins were next to each other, and I wasn’t sure whether it was the daylight, or just the fact that I’d never gotten a good look at them before, but the two of them seemed different than before. Bigger, more muscular, hairier. They didn’t look much like their father, now that I had light and time to notice. They lit cigarettes, and shared a few smoky kisses, but it wasn’t…lust. They just seemed to be searching for some small comfort with one another. All I knew was that I had to get out of there. The smoke was stifling, the air heavy. I went over and grabbed Mikey by the arm, and told him we needed to go home.

He told me he couldn’t. I asked why, and he said that he was home. Thinking back, what he actually said was, “We’re home,” but I didn’t notice, I wasn’t listening. All I could think of doing was regaining control. He kept insisting he stay, that he shouldn’t leave anymore, that he deserved this, that if he left it would just get worse. I hauled him up–he was heavier, and I was exhausted, but he didn’t fight me as I forced him back into his clothes, dragged him out of the trailer and into the sun. It felt so good, in the light, but it also…hurt somehow. We got in the truck, and he was sobbing at this point, muttering how sorry he was over and over. My hands were shaking; I needed a drink something fierce. I drove off, pulling into a gas station where I bought a bottle of liquor, and it was only when I got in my truck again that I realized how natural that had felt, how instinctual, and I resolved to pour the bottle out once we got home.

Mikey had gone quiet, but he was still crying. I told him everything was going to be ok, and he shouted back, “Everything is not ok! Don’t you know what happened last night? Why couldn’t you have just left me alone? Why the fuck did you have to show up? I…I didn’t want that, I can’t believe what I did…”

I tried to tell him it was me, but he stopped responding. I drove home, and the both of us went into my trailer. I went to pour the bottle out in the sink, only to discover a third of it was missing. I could…taste alcohol in my mouth, on my breath…and something else too. I looked down, and found a thick cigar smoldering between my fingers. Mikey was sitting in a chair, head in one hand, cigarette in the other. The bottle was at my lips again–I realized I had been drinking and smoking ever since I left the gas station, and I hadn’t even noticed it. I recoiled from the bottle, and left the cigar on the counter–Mikey saw my terror, and shook his head. He told me I couldn’t fight it. That it had me now, that there wasn’t anything any of us could do. He wasn’t crying anymore, but I could feel the weight dragging him down, dragging us both down, and at that moment…all I wanted was for him to be happy, was…was for him to feel good again, like before.

I hadn’t actually managed to put down either the cigar, or the bottle. I walked over, got down, and we kissed again, sharing smoke and booze until the bottle was empty. Over and over I told myself that this was wrong, that I shouldn’t be doing this, not with a man, not with my grandson. He started begging me to fuck him, telling me he was a slutty pig, that his hole was aching for a big cock like mine. I…I was so hard. The room was filled with smoke, it was like a dream. I slipped into him again, and I felt so alive, so heavy, so filthy, so…good. It was so good, being inside him again, I never wanted to be anywhere else. Words were pouring out of my mouth, words I never could have imagined saying in a million years, telling him what a naughty boy he was, how he was going to have to learn to keep grandpa happy from now on with both his holes, whenever I wanted it. I licked his sweaty body, he tasted so…so young and sweet. I filled him up over and over again, every shot just made me want to fuck more. It was evening before we finally managed to take a break for food. I wasn’t really hungry, but we needed to eat, I thought. While we snacked, I looked at myself in the mirror, at my sagging gut, my suddenly all white beard, my bloodshot eyes and red nose. I hadn’t looked like that before, but it also seemed…right.

The food tasted rotten, even though it wasn’t, and we didn’t eat much. The hunger was still there, the darkness clawing at my guts. Mikey told me we should go back, that we’d been away too long. He was pale and shivering, sweating. I knew he was right. We got back in the truck and drove back to Dale and Rick’s, with a quick stop for more booze and smokes. We got there, and Dale opened the door. He told us to make ourselves at home, and we haven’t left since.

Joining the Family (Part 3)

I realized too late that Rick and Dale had said something, that Mikey had gotten up off the mattress from between them, grabbed a liquor bottle and taken a swig, carrying it with him as he walked over. This wasn’t Mikey, though. I don’t quite know how I knew that, instinctively. Something in the sway of his hips, the way his face seemed to catch more shadow than the rest of the room. “Hey Gramps,” he said, “I was gonna wait until tomorrow, but the boys say no time like the present, right?”

I told him that he was going to get dressed, and get in the car. That we were going home, and we were going to have a long talk about what he’s doing, about not throwing his life away like this. He laughed, but something in his eyes didn’t match the mirth, like I’d noticed with Rick’s father. I was getting ready to grab him and haul him out, but he moved first, caught me off balance, shoved me back and I toppled onto my back. I tried to get up, but he landed on top of me will all his weight. He was heavier all of a sudden, even though he didn’t look different–like something else was pressing down on me through him, my arms pinned to my side by two strong thighs. He took another gulp from the bottle he had in his hand, holding it in his mouth. I yelled at him to let me up–he took advantage of my open mouth to lock lips with me and feed me the mouthful of liquor.

Now I hadn’t so much as tasted alcohol in decades at that point, and…and fuck, it wasn’t like I hadn’t thought about it. I sputtered that first mouthful out, but god, the desire was there, and I sure as hell wanted a drink, I can tell you that much. Mikey tisked me, told me not to be so wasteful, took another swig and locked lips with me again–this time with more force. I couldn’t wrench my head away, it was like something else had stuck us together, the booze sloshing between us until I…I swallowed it, and I just felt my entire body relax, the whiskey burning it’s way into my gut, so warm and familiar, and fuck I’d missed it so damn much. He took another drink and fed me that one too, and then I was happily drinking and kissing him, my own grandson. The booze raced to my head, it was numbing everything it touched. I lost track of time, of space, of myself. At some point, the twins came over and repositioned Mikey, giving them access to his ass while we kept kissing, their father masturbating over all of us, huffing and panting and grunting, the only other sound in the trailer was the occasional moan, and the static from that damn TV.

One of the twins got down below the other and started sucking my cock. I just tried to pretend it wasn’t happening. They took a moment to move Mikey up, lining his cock up with my mouth, and I resisted, refused to suck it until…until they coated it with liquor and fed it to me that way. My face was inches from my grandson’s hole, I could hear the twin’s cock squelching inside him, I could smell their sex, and it was…it was making me hornier. The weight was only getting heavier, but instead of it being focused within a body, it felt like it was pressing into me, joining with me, some strange, alien darkness.

I would only take breaks from sucking on my grandson’s cock, so I could drink from the bottle–anything, at this point, to dull what was happening. As soon as that bottle was empty, someone handed me another one. The twin came inside my grandson, I felt his cum dribbling back out of his hole and onto my chest, where someone’s hand rubbed it into my skin. Mikey was getting close, a voice was urging me on, telling me to suck harder, suggesting motions with my tongue, how to keep myself from gagging. I thought it was one of twins or their father, but thinking back it wasn’t any of their voices, and it felt like…like something resonating in my own head, some irresistible suggestion inside myself. Mikey came with a choked gasp, and I swallowed all of his sweet, young cum at the voice’s urging, my head spinning.

I…I don’t know how it happened. I…I want to say someone put him there, put us into position, made us do it. I want to say it was the voice, compelling me. But I…I think it was me. I was the one who pushing the twin away from my cock, slid up, and told my own grandson to sit on my cock, to feel his grandpa’s big cock deep inside him. He was loose and wet, well used already at that point, but…but that only made it hotter for some reason. I blacked out not long after that, but I do remember filling him up. I came, and at the same time, it felt like the darkness inside me solidified, turned to barbed wire and thorns, tearing its way into my soul, impossible to unwind and disentangle. I couldn’t stop the thoughts anymore, they felt like…like my own. They were my own. I demanded one of the twins sit on my cock, and he obliged, the other keeping me plied with liquor kisses. My grandson, meanwhile, worshiped the twin’s father’s filthy body, and sucked his cock. I…I kept drinking in the hope that I wouldn’t remember any of it, and honestly, nearly all of it is a blur, but it’s there, all the same, the certainty that it happened, even if I can’t access the particulars. It never seemed to end, but it did end at some point, because eventually I woke up on the filthy trailer floor, entangled with everyone else, and as much as I wanted to feel horrified by what I’d done, all I wanted was, first, another bottle of booze, and then second, to plow all their holes all over again.

Joining The Family (Part 1)

Considering everything the boy had been through, I suppose it was pretty impressive he was as happy-go-lucky as he was. His father sent off to prison when he was seven–dumb as boy a mine, I’ll take credit for that one. Never…quite knew how to be a good father, you know? The fuckin’ babe just pops out, and it’s not like you have a damn instruction manual. Yeah, his dad was a lout–drunk, unemployed. Got busted cooking meth with a buddy, ended up shooting a dang cop! He’s gonna rot away in there, and serves him right. Still, Mikey’s mom didn’t hang around for much longer–she needed her fix, after all. She ditched him on the steps of my trailer, just some kid I barely knew–it’s not like my son brought him around to see Gramps very often. Then she hopped on the back of a motorcycle, driven by some fat fuck with fewer teeth than her, somehow, and she hasn’t come back. I doubt she ever will. Wouldn’t matter anyway–court’s given me full custody, and I resolved to do better with this generation than the last.

Still, I owe a lot of it to Mikey–he’s a real good kid, you know? Not like his father ever was, at least, or maybe I just have a bit more patience now. Helps that I stopped drinking, and the church helps us out too, of course. Gives us a some structure. And now, here he is–seventeen and almost a man, not that you’d really know it, looking at him, or maybe I just see him that way since I raised him. He still looks fourteen to me, his bright eyes, chubby face. Barely has any stubble anywhere on his body, and he’d rather be down in the forest catching crawdads than chasing girls–which is a better occupation in my book. He doesn’t have the grades for college or anything, but he’s already got a job helping out in the kitchen at the roadside diner down the road from our trailer park–he’s got a real talent for cooking, not that you’d know it, looking at the beanpole. He’s put a few pounds on me though, with his food at the diner! Things were going great–until things suddenly weren’t going so great.

It was spring, I remember that–just finishing up his junior year. Now, Mikey had never been very good at making friends. He just…had a hard time trusting people, and opening up, I think. He was always a quiet kid, and I don’t think he’d ever invited anyone over to his house, and had rarely gone anywhere else to play. It was usually just him and the forest until he came home at dusk for dinner. Then, one day, he wasn’t on the school bus when it rolled by. I assumed he’d just missed it, which happened on occasion if he got hung up by a teacher. I was getting ready to drive to school and pick him up, wondering why he hadn’t called me to tell me. I went outside, in time to find some mud crusted pickup, spewing fumes, roll into the trailer park, stop, and a moment later, out came Mikey, laughing and smiling at the other boys in the truck, gave them a wave, and then walked over to me and came inside.

I asked him who they were, and he just said they were some kids from his class who’d offered to give him a ride. He smelled of smoke and…something else I couldn’t place. Something a bit musky? His quietness had changed as well–before he’d been happy to talk about anything once he got talking–but suddenly he was clamming up, dodging questions. He excused himself and went to his room–odd since he usually preferred the woods after school, and he didn’t come out until dinner, and when he came out this time–he still reeked of smoke and that musky smell again…and I realized what it was. He’d been masturbating.

Now, like I said, he hadn’t shown really…any interest in girls, or sex at all for that matter, as long as he’d been in my trailer. So this was odd, to say the least. Now, I’m religious, but I don’t think there’s anything wrong with a guy busting a nut now and then. Hell, I jack off plenty myself, and I don’t want to be a hypocrite, so I just let it slide. I figured he’d get over it, or if it became an issue, we could talk about it.

Well, it wasn’t the masturbating that became the issue, it was the smoking. From that day on, he stopped taking the bus–instead, he caught rides with those new friends of his. It took me days to pry their names out of him–Apparently the ringleaders (that is, the two who drove the truck the rest of them rode around in) were Dale and Rick Pearson–twin brothers in the same grade as Mikey. Everytime, he smelled like smoke, and he insisted he wasn’t having any of it, and I believed him–until I found the lighter and the pack of reds in his room! I threw them out, and we had a long talk–well, a long argument at least. He was pissed I’d gone through his room, and I can understand that, but I didn’t want him smoking. He didn’t see anything wrong with it–after all, Dale and Rick smoked all the time! It didn’t end well–I sent him to his room, which was where he wanted to be anyway, and…he stayed mad at me for a while. I knew he was still smoking, but I couldn’t prove it, and I blamed those two twins, for coming between us. I hoped that this was going to be the worst of it, but it turns out things were only going to go downhill from there.

Learning to Like Ass (Part 4)

WARNING: ***SCAT***

From that day on, things seemed even stranger to Rudy. For one thing, his body–he knew it was wrong, he knew that he shouldn’t be this fat, that…his fucking face was all wrong. He’d been handsome, but now, with the shaggy, unkempt beard; the under bite with the crooked, missing teeth; the bulbous and crooked nose; unibrow and severe balding…well, he wasn’t much to look at at all. His body wasn’t right either, not this fat fucking tub of lard he’d woken up with. He could…almost remember it, how muscular he’d been, how much effort he’d put into his body, and all of it had disappeared over night, leaving him an almost 400 pound lard ass–with an emphasis on ass. His gut was huge, sure, but it was his hips that were so insanely wide, his ass jiggling with every step he took, gently vibrating the dildo or plug he wore…all the time now, whenever he wasn’t getting properly fucked, of course. He did his best to carry on, but the hunger was constant–he had to feed his mouth nearly as often as he had to feed his other hole.

It would have been easier if other people had noticed the changes as well, but everyone just acted like this was normal, like he’d always been like this. And in some ways, he had–guy’s recognized him in the woods now, not as a top, but as a ugly pig bottom, willing to take a load from anyone, no matter who they were. Work was…hard. Not because of his size, but because something had happened to his head. Sure, construction wasn’t exactly something that needed brains, and Rudy had never been smart, but fuck, he just didn’t…get numbers anymore. They like, counted things, sure, but he didn’t even know how much anything was, it was nuts. He started carrying around hundred dollar bills, just so he wouldn’t have to embarrass himself when he handed over not enough cash for food on booze at the gas station on the way to the rest area after work. It was like he was trapped in some fucked up dream–the only time he felt awake–really awake–was when he was in the woods, or in a bathroom stall with some big cock in his hole, snorting and grunting, begging whoever it might be for a hot load in his ass so his cock could shoot again.

It wasn’t really surprising when he got fired. He couldn’t do the work anymore, and his brain was shot. If anything, it was a relief. He’d hated working–all he wanted to do anymore, the only thing he could focus on, was eating and filling his ass with as much cock as he could find. He spend his whole day cruising rest areas and truck stops now, well aware that his meager savings was going to run out sooner or later, but this new him–he just didn’t care about any of that. His ass would just keep tingling, his cock would get hard, and the only thing that would matter was finding some cock so he could cum. He never wanted to go through that again, the aching balls, the sleepless nights. He also…kept hoping he’d see that biker again. He didn’t know what he’d do if he really did see him. Ask him what he’d done to him. Ask him to change him back. Ask him if he’d just gone insane.

When it did happen, finally, Rudy was nearly out of money. It was dark, but he was still in the woods, sitting down against the truck of a tree, feeling some stranger’s cum leak out of his ass into his underwear. He’d gotten fucked a few times, he felt good, but…but he didn’t want to go home. He didn’t want to stay here either, of course, but he didn’t want to go back there either, back to that stinking wreck of a sty. He’d given up on keeping anything clean, along with the rest of his life, and he just couldn’t face it anymore. It was twilight, but he didn’t know when exactly it was–it felt like he’d been there for ages when he smelled the cigar smoke, and his heart leapt up.

“Hey Rudy, long time no see.”

He looked around and saw him a few paces away, the butt of his cigar the brightest thing in his world, and he started crawling away, utterly terrified. “Please, please just leave me alone, please…” He said.

“I’m just trying to educate you, Rudy. I just wanted you to understand why I love asses so much, and I wanted you to love them too. Don’t you want to love them Rudy?” The biker stepped out in front of him, even though he should have been behind him. “Don’t try and run Rudy, there’s nowhere for you to go. When’s the last time you ate, Rudy? You hungry?”

“Oh god, please no, not that,” he tried to turn around, but the roots of the trees were holding him in place, and all he could do was stare at the biker undoing his pants and chaps, and dropping them to the forest floor.

“I do love a fuck, of course, but nothing gets me off better than a fat, filthy pig like you eating the shit from my ass. I haven’t had a pig riding with me in awhile, you know Rudy, and you don’t have a lot of options. Better to spend your life doing something you love, right? And you are hungry, right? So fucking hungry for some fuckin’ shit, right Rudy?”

His gut was growling, he was shaking with hunger, with need. He felt his clothes shifting, his shirt splitting apart into a leather vest, tattoos swirling over his fat body, greasy jeans and chaps covering his wide ass. He snuffled forward and licked at his biker master’s hole, loosening him up, waiting for him to bore down and feed his pig his first proper meal.

Learning to Like Ass (Part 3)

The biker walked over, and pressed close, laying the length of his cock in the crack of Rudy’s ass, listening to his whimper, feeling him try and maneuver his hole into position. “Not so fast, Rudy,” the biker said, and started kneading the cheeks in his hands, “I wanna take a moment, savor this wide ass of yours. Gonna be a nice fuck, especially if I don’t have to look at that ugly mug of yours.”

“Please, just fucking fuck me! I can’t fucking take it anymore, please, I need it so fucking bad…”

“Oh now Rudy, you know I never fuck without eating first, it’s only polite,” the biker said, and slipped down onto his knees, and started licking at his crack, burrowing in with his tongue, making Rudy squirm and grunt, gripping the sheets in an iron grip. It felt good, hell, it felt amazing, but it wasn’t what he wanted–what he needed more than anything. Still, he didn’t push him, he tried to just enjoy himself, one hand stroking his oozing cock, hanging on the edge of an orgasm but not able to cross it.

When the biker was satisfied that Rudy was open enough, he got back up, pressed the head of his cock to Rudy’s hole, and slipped inside, feeling him shudder around him and immediately throw himself back, but the biker stepped with him, teasing him, keeping just the head inside. “Come you, this is what you fucking want right? So fucking plow me!”

“I just don’t want you to get excited and blow your load too soon. After all, a good, fat piggy like you knows you can’t cum until you’ve made the man you’re with cum, right? Only once you have a nice and warm raw load in this chute, can that cock of yours finally explode, isn’t that right?”

“Oh god, please…”

“Well? Am I right or not, Rudy? I think I know my fat pigs well enough, I’ve plowed a shit ton of them. Get that hand off your cock, you’re too eager. You’re attention should be on me. On making sure my stay in this hole of yours is the best it can be.”

“Ok, ok,” Rudy said, pulling his hand away, feeling his gut drop, first brushing against the sheets, and then pressing into it. Fuck he was a fat pig, fuck yeah, and he was gonna make sure this hole was the biker’s best fuck in ages. He might not look like much, sure–hell, he was outright ugly, but once a guy got inside him, they all forgot about that. He relaxed, and felt the biker slide in deep. He shivered, unable to stop himself, and matched the biker’s rhythm, slamming back with his thrusts, feeling his entire body jiggle, especially his ass, fuck, this guy was fuckin’ with some goddamn force, just how he liked it! He was getting close, he could feel it, feel the biker trying to hold back, but he clamped down, dragging him over the edge, feeling the cock explode deep in his guts, and it was like a wave crashing into him, his own balls exploding their load on the sheets–

He kept humping the bed, sheets tangled around his legs and gut. He could feel how wet his sheets were, but fuck, what a dream! He was sweating hard, muscles quivering and aching like he’d just tried to run a mile or something. Had…had it even been a dream? Like that last one, before this. Still, where that one had been terrifying, this one had been so incredibly satisfying. He shuddered, the last bit of cum seeping out of him, and he…he needed to feel that again. He grabbed one of his dildos (he always had one on his nightstand for easy access) and slipped it inside his hole with a quiver and a moan. It wouldn’t be enough to get him off–no toy had ever been able to replace a real cock for him–but it would at least let him calm down, his hole milking the latex rod like a baby sucking a pacifier. He wrangled the sheets back on top of him, kneaded his soft gut for a few minutes, and drifted back off to sleep, snoring away.

Learning to Like Ass (Part 2)

Rudy started screaming, but the knife–it was definitely a knife, landed against his throat.

“I won’t kill ya–just…fuck up your voice box a bit. Or do you just wanna be quiet for daddy?”

He shut up. The knife rolled over his neck, and then the biker dragged the tip down his chest. He didn’t apply enough force to cut him, but Rudy stopped breathing anyway, freezing his body as best he could, feeling the knife slip lower, past his cock where it finally came up from his skin.

“Not an assman, what a crock a shit. Guys like you should be happy anyone’s willing tah offer you a hole at all. Can’t do to be that picky, you know.”

“I get plenty of tail,” Rudy spat at him.

“Heh, sure man. That’s why you’re prowlin’ ‘round the rest stop, cause ya got plenty a tail. No Rudy, no one wants tah get fucked a sad sack like you.”

Rudy started to retort, but froze when he felt something slip between his legs and between his ass cheeks. It wasn’t the knife, like he’d first expected–it was just the biker’s finger–and before he could object he started pressing at Rudy’s hole with the tip, massaging it slowly, and unable to stop himself, Rudy let out a long sigh, collapsed onto the bed and moaned.

“Don’t worry man, mah finger’s can work magic,” the biker said. “What do ya think, man? Think I can convince ya anal might not be so bad?”

“F-Fuck you…” Rudy groaned, his back arching, limbs tugging at the ropes holding him to the bed.

“Fuck me? No no no, fuck you, Rudy.”

He tried to shut his hole up, but the man’s finger just…just slipped into him effortlessly, and fuck, it felt good in there, like it fucking belonged. His cock was hard, and he could already feel it pulsing, getting ready to blow. Deeper still, fuck, more, another finger, something, he needed it, he was so close, he was gonna explode–

He woke up, with a suddering groan, two of his own fingers burrowed deep in his own ass, and his cock started spraying cum across the bed sheets he’d kicked off in the night. He just laid there, fingers still inside, panting and looking around. Hadn’t…he been tied up? Out the window, the sky was the deep purple of the hours before dawn, but it had been pitch black, hadn’t it? When he’d been in here? He realized his hand was still inside him, and he yanked it out, got up from the bed and immediately washed his hands over and over until he couldn’t smell it anymore, and then looked around for evidence, but found nothing. He had no bruises or marks on his wrists or ankles, not even a speck of ash from the biker’s cigar that he’d been smoking. So had it been a dream? He’d never had a dream like that, it had felt so damn real! He managed to shake it off after a bit, and by then it was time for work, so he got dressed and left the trailer, hoping he could just forget about it as quickly as possible.

The rest of the week was just…strange. He didn’t quite feel like himself. He’d look at himself in the mirror, and something would throw him off–the scraggly beard, the unkempt hair, the paunch–none of which he could recall having before. Sure, he was himself, but…maybe it was just his confidence or something, but he kept striking out. Girls who usually were desperate for a lay with him were suddenly throwing him cold shoulders or coming up with lame excuses for why they didn’t want to meet with him. The guys at the rest area seemed equally uninterested, and for the first time in long time, he went several days without fucking anyone, and it was driving him mad. It didn’t help that whenever he masturbated he…couldn’t get himself over the edge. He’d stroke for hours on end, but all that would happen is he’d end up even hornier than he’d started. He couldn’t sleep either. He was too terrified that he might…dream like that again, or worse that it hadn’t been a dream, and the biker would show up like before.

It was a week and a half, when it happened again. He’d started sleeping a bit better, but the crushing horniness was only getting worse. The heat was increasing too, as summer wore on, and he woke that night in a froth, his cock achingly hard, and resigned himself to try again. He started stroking, but nothing was happening, but he also couldn’t stop! He wanted to cum so badly, he’d…he’d do fucking anything.

“Anything, Rudy?”

His stomach tried to crawl it’s way out his mouth. He looked over, and there, smoking one of those nasty cigars of his, was the fucking biker, right there in his armchair, watching him try to jack off. “What…How did you get in here?”

“The door, Rudy–you fucking dumbass,” the biker said, and stood up, “Yeah, dumbass. Anybody else woulda put two and two together, but ya couldn’t even get tah two in the first place. You remember what made you feel so good last time, Rudy? Why don’t you try that and see what happens.”

No–not that. But his hand, it…it wouldn’t stop. He licked two fingers, rolled over a bit and poked at his hole, gasping immediately as precum started gushing from his cock. He fingered himself, deep, desperate to cum, but as good as it felt, it…wasn’t enough. “I still can’t cum, you fuck,” Rudy said, “What the fuck did you do to me?”

“You can’t cum, Rudy, cause fingers aren’t enough for you–you know that,” the biker unzipped the fly of his pants and let his huge cock fall from his pants. It…looked ever bigger than before, and fuck, Rudy wanted it inside him, he hadn’t even known how much he wanted it, but fuck did he.

“Oh god, fuck me, fuck me please! Please, I just want to cum, please…” Rudy said, rolled up on his hands and knees, ass towards the biker’s cock.

“Heh, if you insist Rudy, if you insist.”

Learning To Like Ass (Part 1)

Rudy certainly wouldn’t have said he was bisexual–that was just another word for faggot, in his vocabulary. No, to him, it was just that the mouths of faggots and bitches were all the same–if they wanted to eat his cum, then fucking fine, let them. And so, when he couldn’t find a woman to screw, he’d usually just head down to the local truck stop, where the various faggots hung out. He’d hang out in the woods, and before too long some dumb, whimpering faggot would crawl over and beg him for his cock. Two rules though–they couldn’t touch him, anywhere, and if they did he’d pummel their face into the forest floor. He also was completely against anything anal–that was for shitting only, in his mind. What kind of sick, perverted freak could think it was alright to stick anything in there at all?

At least, until one afternoon. He’d struck out again with his usual bitches, and so he’d stopped by the truck stop to see if he could let loose a few loads in a faggot instead. Sure enough, he found a faggot mouth after a few minutes, who agreed to his two stipulations, and the guy started sucking him off–when Rudy noticed someone was watching them. This wasn’t unusual–there were more than a few fags who seemed more interested in watching someone else than in doing anything themselves. He thought this was strange, but they weren’t breaking his rules, so he let it slide. This watcher, however, wasn’t cut from the same cloth as most watchers. Usually, they were older, chubby, with small cocks–it was no wonder why they were alone, just jacking off–who’d want to fuck with someone like that? No, this guy…from what he was wearing, he was probably a biker, but his clothes…they were filthy. So nasty, that Rudy could smell him even fifteen feet away. It helped that he was downwind, which also meant that the guy’s cigar smoke kept drifting into his eyes. He thought about stopping, but this faggot was good with his mouth–then the biker walked over to them both.

Without speaking, he yanked down the faggot’s jeans and underwear, running his greasy, dirty hands over the fag’s ass and into his crack. Rudy felt the fucker…shiver. That was too much for him, he didn’t want to see this shit. He tried to extricate himself, but the biker said, “No, stay put–we’re gonna put this fucker on a spit.”

There was…something in the way the man said it, in his voice, in the smell of smoke and musk, that…made him stay put, watching the biker haul the fag’s ass up so he was bent over at the waist, and the biker…got down and started licking at the fag’s hole, shoving his tongue in–it was so disgusting, and yet Rudy couldn’t rip his eyes away, watching the biker take a deep inhale of smoke from his cigar and breathe it into the fag’s hole, feeling him moan around Rudy’s cock in his mouth. The biker kept it up for a few minutes, then stood up again, drool in his graying goatee, and he let some spit drop onto his cock, got it wet, and slipped it inside. Between them, the fag started jacking his cock faster, and after a minute he’d exploded all over the leaves between them. Rudy couldn’t stop watching the biker fuck–slow at first, and then he built up a rhythm, the sound was…filthy, and then the biker came, filling the fag’s guts up backwards.

“Turn around bitch, clean off my cock of your nasty hole,” the biker said, and the guy immediately left Rudy’s still hard cock and turned his attention to the biker’s disgusting shaft.

“Hey, I didn’t cum yet,” Rudy said.

“Then use his hole–still tight. Got lot’s of seed to lube it up for ya,” the biker said.

Rudy looked down, the hole oozing cum down the crack. He…he couldn’t. “No, that’s fucking disgusting.”

The biker chuckled. “Little boy, scared of an asshole.”

“You faggots are fucking disgusting, I’m getting the fuck out of here,” Rudy said, and hiked up his jeans, shoving his spit-slick cock back in his underwear. The biker didn’t say anything, but Rudy could feel the man’s eyes on him as he left the woods and returned to his truck outside the restroom. That fag’s mouth had been damn good too–but that nasty fucker had ruined everything. He got in and got back on the freeway, heading home again–the small single wide in the trailer park, which was all he could afford with his shitty job at the factory one town over. It wasn’t much, but it was home, at least. He called up a couple of bitches again; no one even answered the phone, and so he had to resort to his hand that night. Still, it was hard getting even one load out–all he could see, as he got close, was that biker’s seed leaking from that hole, and he’d go soft every time. He eeked out an unsatisfying load, drank way too much whisky, and then climbed into bed.

It was the smoke that woke him, in the dark. His first thought was that something was on fire, but this smoke, he’d smelled it before, back in the woods. He tried to get up, but discovered his arms and legs were tied at the wrists and ankles to the end of the bed. This had to be a dream, it had to be. He still felt a bit drunk from the night before, was this some fucked up nightmare? He looked over, and saw the dull light of an ember in the dark, and heard that same chuckle. The biker?

“What, how the fuck did you get in here?”

“Followed you home, boy,” the biker said, walking slowly into the dim light from Rudy’s window, “Easy enough to pick that shitty lock. You were so out, I didn’t even have to use this,” he said, and some metal glinted–either a gun or a knife, Rudy couldn’t tell which. “But I came because I like ya boy. Because you ‘n I are gonna have some fun together for a while, how does that sound?”