Ruining Mr. Fisher (Part 8)

At first, it was just like all of the other times Ned had changed him. He could feel the medallion twisting back into his past, tugging at strings, unravelling what had always been such a promising, well ordered life that he’d made. But then, he felt the medallion tugging at something different, at strings and cords within him that had a higher tension, a deeper resonance. It hurt, feeling them unfurling, breaking apart and latching themselves out in new directions–and when the snapped, everything else came with them. Before, it was like Ned had been slowly cutting away at the individual strands of a thick, twined rope. However, at that moment, the rope had finally lost, and had come apart. He wasn’t even sure what, exactly had changed, way back in the past, but it was ruining everything. Nothing was the same, and he found himself whipping forward through a new timeline–one where he didn’t have money or resources, and he had no drive to seek them out. When he flunked out of school and never even bothered going to college. The few parts that he could cling to were those things Ned had already given him–his multitude of addictions, his filthy body, his masochistic desires. He rocketed forward, time flowing too fast for him to follow, space warping it’s way around him now. He was nowhere suddenly, and then he was somewhere new, the light dying back, leaving him crumpled on a filthy floor, heaving for breath in a fetal position, trying to understand what he’d just witnessed.

“Well, come on bitch–you can’t just lay there all fuckin’ day,” Ned said, “Come on boy, help me git yer worthless father up.”

Shawn and Ned got down, each took one of Gerard’s doughy arms and together managed to haul his fat ass up again, shivering and shaking and looking around him. He’d been in his house, hadn’t he? But he’d never owned a house before. He’d always lived in…trailers. Trailers like this one, where he was standing. He groped his way to a table, lit a cigar and smoked it, fighting how normal this felt, trying to keep away the memories blocking him in, making that old him, that successful him nothing but a tired fantasy. “Where…What did…” He never finished the questions, and Ned didn’t answer them because Gerard–or Gerry, rather–knew the answers.

He was in his trailer. Ned had made it so he’d never been a banker at all, but more than that. Ned had ruined his entire life, and now…now, here he was. Living in a disgusting, rundown single wide trailer. He worked as a septic tank and sewer repairman. Worse yet…he loved it. In fact, he realized that Ned had given him a slight reprieve from his previous inability to feel anything with his cock–now the only thing that could get him hard was the pungent odor of a septic system, a backed up toilet, or an especially rank fart pushed out while his tongue was buried in deep. He sat down on the edge of his bed, sheets rank with cum shots from him and his son, and let out a massive, wet fart, felt his tiny cock squirm to life, and started snorting up his own stink, feeling his constant, raging horniness begin pushing every other thought from his mind.

“Don’t worry Gerry, I made sure you live right next door to me. It’s a bit lonely right now, just the two of us, but I’ve been keeping an eye on a few of your old coworkers, you know. The three of us will have plenty of company around here soon enough.”

“Ya fuckin’ bastard,” Gerry muttered, barely even noticing his new accent, “Ya ain’t fuckin’ won, ya know. I still gots me in here.”

“Oh trust me Gerry, I know,” Ned said, and walked up to him, and pressed his medallion back against Gerry’s breast, “I can take care of that too.”

It didn’t hurt, and that was worse–it was just warm, and comforting, and…and easy. He felt the scar which he’d had on his chest ever since Ned had first touched the Medallion there beginning to stitch back together, fading away–and along with the mark, his old mind and memories were fading too. “No…nuh-uh, please…” he slurred, a bit sleepy, “Don’…I didn’t mean it…”

Ned stroked one hand through Gerry’s greasy, filthy locks of hair, leaned in and whispered to him, “I know, but I was gonna do it anyway.”

When Ned pulled the medallion away, Gerry’s skin was perfect, without a mark to be seen. His nasty, shit loving neighbor looked around dimly, like he was trying to remember something but couldn’t, then let loose a long loud fart and gave a big belly laugh. “Fuck, that was a good’un!” he said, “Rank fucker gittin me horned up. Ya’ll gonna plow my nasty pig holes or what? Come on son, ya ain’t fucked pa yet tahday, ‘n I need that big ass fuckstick plowin’ me deep,” Gerry said, rolled over and presented his hole to Shawn, who smiled, stroked his cock a few times and slammed it in, Gerry squealing in pleasure.

Ned watched the father and son fuck for a moment, and then got up on the bed, in front of Gerry, and dropped his pants, his ass towards his neighbor’s face. “What do ya say pig? Ya hungry?”

“Fuck yeah, Ned, ‘specially if ya ain’t wiped up–then again, Ah ain’t never seen a roll a toilet paper within ten miles a here.”

“Why spend money on that crap when I got the best fuckin’ asseater right next door?” Ned said, shoved his crack into Gerry’s face and let loose a ripe fart. The pig spasmed, feeling cum spew from his nipple like cock, oozing down from his gunt and dribbling into his bed sheets, but Gerry just focused on eating out the nasty hole in front of him, grinding his filthy beard into it, tongue burrowing deep. This was the life, he thought. The perfect life for a pig like him–everything he’d ever wanted, and he’d never want for more ever again.

Ruining Mr. Fisher (Part 5)

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Yes, please…”

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

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

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

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

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

“What…what do you mean?”

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

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

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

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

“Ten seconds. Better hurry…”

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

Ned just stared at him, and shook his head.

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

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

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

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

Going to college in a small rural town didn’t exactly have many perks, unless you liked cows. and farming. You liked your school, sure, but there wasn’t much to do, which is how you found yourself at the State Fair in October, killing a Saturday when you’d rather be partying in the city with friends. The place was full of hicks, and it was a bit disgusting to be honest. You’d kind of been hoping to spy on some hot cowboy butt, but there was more plumber’s crack than anything else. You’d been closeted since you got here–it didn’t really seem like a good place to be gay.

It was early afternoon when you started to get hungry–that was when you spotted the oddest sign–an “All You Will Eat Buffet”. What the hell did that even mean? You went in, and a big bubba welcomed you–and before you could get any information about the place, he had you seated on a bench, and a big plate of food set down in front of you.

“I–wait, I didn’t order this?” You yelled after him.

The man laughed. “Don’t matter! You will eat it all up, won’t you?”

The words were like magic–you started shoveling the fried food into your mouth as fast as you could, unable to stop, terrified at the sudden compulsion overwhelming you. You finished the first plate, and second one was immediately set down on top of it.

“There you go. You’ll eat that too, won’t ya? Yeah, that’s nice. I don’t get skinny college kids in here too often, but yer always fun–I think you will be eatin’ a whole lot today, don’t you?”

Plate after plate came, and you couldn’t stop yourself. The afternoon, and when you got too tired and full to continue, the bubba would be there, massaging your growing gut, and whispering in your ear. Calling you a pig. Calling you a slob. Calling you a hick. Calling you stupid and gluttonous and horny. Soon, you were demanding more food, eating as fast as you could, reveling in your own gluttony, and when the bubba mentioned that you will be sucking the cum from his balls along with dessert, you were only to happy to swallow his thick cock down too.

It’s night now, and the buffet’s closed for the day. You stumble, impossibly full, weighing at least 400 pounds. You aren’t a college student anymore–just a fat ass trucker pig, begging for cock whenever you can get it. But you think you’ll be hanging around here for another day or two–that’s the best buffet you’ve ever seen, and that bubba back there was already mentioning how much you will eat tomorrow.

Requested by Anonymous

He’d thought this would be a shortcut, cutting through the fields on his way back home, but Mitchell had underestimated the distance and gotten a bit turned around in a stand of trees. Now he wasn’t quite sure where he was, but he could see a few buildings in the near distance–a farm house and a long, low barn. If he could get back to a road, he could at least reorient himself, even if he was technically trespassing.

He got closer to the barn, and he started to smell something–whatever it was, it smelled like food, and he hadn’t eaten in a few hours–it was making his stomach grumble. Curious to see what someone could be cooking in a barn that smelled so damn good, he crept around and found a door, and inside he found a bunch of machinery pumping some kind of strange slop into a a huge trough lining one wall, and in the dim light it looked like a bunch of pigs were feeding at it. His curiosity sated, he tried to turn around, but his feet instead carried him closer. The smell was intense, and his hunger was only growing. Without really knowing why, he found himself on his hands and knees at the trough, drool following through his beard, eyes vacant, and he shoved his face into the slop.

He tried to resist for a while. The slop didn’t taste very good, but something about it made him feel good, and warm…and horny. The first orgasm caught him by surprise, filling the front of his jeans without him even touching his cock–and not long after that he didn’t even want to stop anymore. He kept eating until the machine finally shut off, and he and the rest of the pigs all finished off the slop, licking the metal clean before he could finally pull himself away.

He looked down at himself, unable to believe what he was seeing. He must have gained fifty pounds in a few hours, all of it in his gut! He looked around at the pigs, and saw all of them were forming a large mass, heaving piles of flab, all of them grunting and squealing–but they weren’t pigs at all. They were all men! massively obese men, their eyes blank, sucking at each other’s holes and cocks. He had to get out of here, but he was so full he could barely stand up–and he didn’t really want to leave. He just kind of stayed there, watching the pigs fuck…and kind of wanting to join them. he didn’t even notice the obese redneck walk in, wearing just a pair of overalls.

“Well well! Looks like another little piggy wandered on in here when I wasn’t lookin’!”

Mitchell managed to pry his eyes away, but there was nothing he could do as the man walked over, started ripping away his over stretched clothes, and putting a leather collar on him.

“Bit too small though–gonna have tah give ya a boost so ya can catch up with the rest a the litter, ya runt!” the redneck said, and led Mitchell over to one end of the trough, shoved a tube down his throat, secured it with a mask, and then turned the machine back on–slop pumping it’s way right into his gut.

“That’s better, ya’ll be as big and stupid as the rest a the swine in no time!” he said, “Still, gotta try out yer hole, right?” He dropped his overalls, slipped his cock into Mitchell’s ass, but the new pig was already too stupid to do anything but buck back, and spray another load of cum across the barn floor.

Ruining Mr. Fisher (Part 4)

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

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

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

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

“He makes this commute everyday?”

“Yep.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“No bitch, It stays locked.”

“But you said–”

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

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

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

Ruining Mr. Fisher (part 1)

Ned’s heart leapt into his throat when he pushed the janitor cart around the corner, and saw the light in the corner office of the fourteenth floor was still on. The office where Gerard Fisher worked, an upper level manager in the bank which owned the building–the same bank which had, a few years back, foreclosed on Ned’s home. The same company whose offices he’d been cleaning for over a decade, under contract with a cleaning company sure, but every fucking day he was here, cleaning up after these wealthy fucks. It had been enough though, to get a little piece of property, until the mortgage rate had skyrocketed out of his budget. The bank had been merciless, his credit was ruined, his savings evaporated, he was living in a shitty trailer park, commuting an hour to work every day, a commute he couldn’t afford for a job he couldn’t afford to give up. It wasn’t rational to pin the blame to Gerard, there in the corner office, but the way he’d always sneered at Ned, when Ned was pushing the cart through, on these nights he worked late…

Ned was from a poor working class family. He’d done poorly in school, but he wasn’t stupid. The stress of the last few years had sent him ballooning larger and larger, until now he was about 400 pounds but couldn’t stop eating, and couldn’t pay to eat better. It didn’t help matters much that he was also gay, but had spent his entire life in the closet, only fucking around rarely. Still, he was a hard worker, but he could see the game was rigged, and the men rigging it were the Gerard Fishers of the whole fucking world. He’d assumed his whole life he’d never be able to stand up to someone like that and survive in the world, and so he’d kept his pride low and head down, but now…but now was his chance–a meager chance, but a chance all the same.

Through his grungy coveralls he reached in and pulled the medallion out, letting it hang on the outside of his clothing, glinting oddly in the light. He hadn’t really believed the old man he’d run into while he was cruising for sex at the rest area a few miles down the highway. The stranger had looked like a hitchhiking derelict–he’d pleaded with Ned to take the gold medallion from him, telling him that he could get revenge, that he could use it to destroy the lives of those who had wronged him. Ned had to admit that he’d liked the sound of that, and even if it was bunk (which it had to be, right?) then he could always pawn the gold for some extra cash. But he’d taken it from the man, and it was like time had stopped around him, and his eyes–it was like they’d been opened to some strange reality he’d never even known existed. And in that flash, he saw that the man had indeed been telling him the truth, but not the whole truth. Yes, the medallion would allow the person wielding it to destroy the lives of others, but it also made that person incapable of improving themselves.

But it was worse than that–Ned looked down at himself, at his fat, slobby, grungy body, his dirty clothes, and where he’d always been disgusted with himself, suddenly he…he liked it. He went back to his truck and jacked off, thinking about what a fat failure he was, about…about how much he wanted others to be fat, nasty failures like he was. He couldn’t stop, he didn’t want to stop, and all he could do was think about Gerard Fisher in his corner office.

So here Ned was–a slightly different Ned. He hadn’t showered in a few weeks, or done laundry either, since he’d first touched the amulet. He had a rather wild beard, his hair was shaggy, his eyes…glinting with an odd golden hue as he looked at the lit window of that corner office, that office he knew he’d never have, especially now, but that office no one should have–especially not Mr. Fisher. His cock was hard, just thinking about it, and he abandoned the cart, walked down to the office door, knocked, and stepped inside before being invited in.

Mr. Fisher was in his forties, but he didn’t look like it. He was meticulous about keeping himself in shape, kept every little wisp of grey plucked or colored, kept up with all the latest fashions. He had the perfect wife, and the perfect son about to go to college. But most important, he despised everything about the janitor who stepped into his office, grinning like he owned the place, a strange necklace around his neck shining in the light. It took him a moment to realize it was the same fat slob who always cleaned the floor when he stayed late–it was just that he was looking fatter and slobbier than usual.

“I think you can wait until I’m gone for the evening to clean my office,” Mr. Fisher said, “Although it doesn’t look like you know how to clean anything. I’ll be reporting your hygiene to the contractor, just so you know.”

“No Mr. Fisher, I’m not here to clean your office. I’m here to show you something,” Ned said, and pulled the medallion from around his neck, and started swinging it gently in the air in front of him. Mr. Fisher found his eyes drawn to the medallion immediately, and when the fat slob started moving closer…he wanted to move away–but he couldn’t move a muscle. Distantly he heard the slob talking, as one hand unzipped the front of his coveralls, allowing the slob to haul out a disgusting cock which…Mr. Fisher started sucking on behind his desk like it was the most normal thing to do. Ned smiled–it was a good mouth, actually. In fact, everything about Mr. Fisher’s body–everything about his life–was perfect, and Ned couldn’t wait to ruin all of it.

None of them had noticed anything yet. I wasn’t sure if any of them would notice the spell at all. Still, it was working, that much was certain. All of them had been massively muscled just a few hours ago, hairy, oozing masculinity. Already they were starting to pudge up, their body hair becoming thinner, their facial hair disappearing bit by bit. It was hard to tell whether they were becoming a bit more flirty because they were a bit drunk, or because the next part of the spell was taking affect. Serves those fucking jocks right, though–this will teach them to pick on fat guys like me. They’re all going to be fat cockwhores by the end of the night.

Fuck, it sure is working, you should see the four of them! None of them is less than 300 pounds at this point, and all of them are obsessing with the guys around here, flirting with them, unable to peel their eyes away from the men’s crotches, even as their own cock’s shrivel up into nothing. This sort of shit would have gotten me pummeled into a pulp, but none of the guys here mind–the spell makes anyone the four of them take a liking to into a big, hairy brute who will give their holes a good reaming. Joey keeps looking at me, in particular, and fuck, it’s making me a bit horny. He can’t stop himself, and he knows it–I can see the terror in his eyes even as he licks his fat lips.

Yeah fucker, that’s fuckin’ right, who’s in charge now, huh! Who’s on top now? Yeah, I wanna year ya fuckin’ squeal, squeal like a pig!

Oh god oh god, wha happened tha me? I ain’t, this ain’t right! Where’d all this fuckin’ hair come from, ‘n why’s it so hard tah fuckin’ think all a sudden? The…spell? Fuck, I fucked Joey, ‘n this is what that made me? Got a damn good cock though, feels real nice. Bet…Bet it’d feel nicer in that other pig’s hole though, now that other guy’s done plowin’ him. Yeah, think I’d better give him a good fuck too, can’t fuck enough pigs after all, fuck yeah…

Source: huskyishusky

I was just a teenager looking to earn a little extra cash, so when my neighbor, Mr. Junkett, told me he would pay me fifty bucks a day to help him with some home improvement work, I jumped at the chance, even though I didn’t really know anything about it. I assumed it would just be some painting or something, but I found out on the first day that he was putting in an entire new wing of his house! Still, I’d agreed to help, and it was good money, and I knew I’d learn a lot from him.

I don’t know when I noticed the first changes, how I was becoming more muscular, my gut filling out, picked up a couple of tattoos even though I couldn’t remember how I’d gotten them, and I’d started smoking cigarettes just like Mr. Junkett. This photo was taken about a month after we’d gotten started…and I remember looking at myself, not even sure it was me.

I started spending more and more time with him, working, and soon I was there constantly, sleeping on his couch after he fed me huge meals and encouraged me to drink beer after beer…and then I was sleeping in his bed, waking up with his arms around me, his…cock still lodged in my ass. I knew it was wrong, but I liked it–pretty soon he was fucking me all the time, and I was begging him for it–just the scent off his musky pits was enough to have me bent over, pants down, begging for a rough fuck.

That old me has started to fade though. I’m not as smart as I was, and I don’t think I even finished high school. I’m in my forties with a mullet and a thick beard–my parents don’t even recognize me as their son, and…I live with Gary Junkett, my partner in public, and my master in private. Still, I can’t wait to see our new sex dungeon when it’s finished in a few more days. Master tells me we’re going to have a big party to celebrate, and my holes are going to be the main attractions.

Source: redneckindeed

The Trophy (Part 1)

You know how it is: sometimes all you really want is a project. A big project, something you can really sink your teeth into, something that takes work, something big enough to give you that special kind of frustration, a puzzle to crack, a man to break. You can’t find someone like that in a leather bar–hell, you can’t find someone like that at any kind of gay bar. No, that’s too easy, when I get in one of those moods, when I start feeling restless, when every guy I bring home and keep around for a few days, perverting them further, just doesn’t do shit for me, not really. This is one of those times–so I figure, why not go on a hunt?

I can’t very well go out in my usual gear of course–the rubber tanks and leather chaps tend to scare off the prey, if they think they can smell a faggot. Still, getting dressed up for a hunt means considering what kind of prey I’m looking for, and also what’s in season. If it was summer, a bar by the beach would be ripe with muscle alphas ripe for the picking, but with the clouds rolling in and fall turning to winter, that wouldn’t be easy–or honestly, very desirable. No, I was feeling like something…something a bit rougher. Someone who might try and bite back. Flannel, I think. Yeah, but not a vest–don’t want my gut hanging out, as fun as that is. Flannel shirt, a bit worn and grungy, my biker vest over it. Jeans–not the best pair. They don’t fit quite right, and they’re still muddy from that night in the park a few days back with Rick. Still, if I’m straight acting they’re perfect. Finish the look with some boots, roll up the sleeves and show off my burly, hairy forearms, a ballcap, cigars of course, and I’m out the door into the early, already darkening evening. I’ll take the truck–play the part, and go for a drive.

I head out of town, through the suburbs and out onto the highway, skip a few exits and hop off when I spot a dive bar that seems busy. It’s a friday, the guys are all off work and celebrating–I slip in among the rowdy crowd like I know them, pick up a beer from the overwhelmed barkeep, and take a spot at the bar, where I can survey most of the room, and see how things develop. I nurse my first draft for a couple of hours, and start narrowing down the possibilities. It’s good, fertile. Any number of these guys would be great, but what I want is a challenge. Not necessarily the leader–if the leader disappears, people will ask questions after all. But the betas, the ones fighting for rank–those are who I watched, waiting for one of them to speak to me more than the others…and finally, it happened during the second fight of the night.

Two betas. One of them muscled, but short. He was intriguing, but just didn’t seem to give me much inspiration. The other, however, he was lovely. Tall, probably six foot two–not quite as tall as me, but close. Not muscled exactly, but more…toned. Not a gym toned–a work toned, a lower middle class hunger toned. He had this…lovely hair–long and curly, a dark blonde, which fell past his shoulders. I could see tattoos running up his arms, and the white tee he was wearing looked none to clean–the same with his jeans. He was also staggering drunk, which is really the only reason the short bearish one ended up winning, I think–yanked the guy down by the hair, got him off balance and with a sharp punch sent him tumbling into a table, overturning it. The crowd threw him out, but it was the tantrum he threw that sealed the deal for me–the rage, the anger, the pride. Just what I was looking for. I excused myself–no one even noticed that I’d been there, and followed him out into the parking lot, lighting a cigar as I did.

He was by one of the beat up trucks, trying to fit the key into the lock; I walked over and suggested that he not drive, as drunk as he was. That didn’t make him particularly happy, and he wheeled around, only to find himself facing me–he wasn’t too eager to lose a second fight, and he could tell he’d lose against me. Instead of throwing a punch he tried to insult me–I grabbed him by the long flowing hair and dragged him off, back away from the building, where a small stand of trees would give me some cover. He fought–but it was obvious he was proud of his hair–he didn’t dare risk ripping it out of his scalp enough to really fight me–at least until I threw him to the ground, got on top of him, and yanked down the back of his jeans.

Fuck, I needed this, so fucking bad. He fought, so I beat him to submission, breaking his nose and giving him a fat lip and two black eyes–then he gave in…kind of. He’d obviously never had someone in his back door. As soon as I forced my way in, he started hollering all over again–I had to ball up his shirt and shove it in his bloody mouth. I fucked him till I came, and then I slipped the popper bottle full of chloroform under his nose, and he was out like a light. The bar noticed nothing, as I backed my truck up to the trees, bound up my kill, threw him in the back, and headed home, ready to get to work.

Breakdown (Sketch)

“Great, just great,” Paul thought, hearing his car’s engine start grinding as he drove down the highway. He made it another half mile before smoke started pouring out, and he was forced to pull off to the side of the road…somewhere. He was on the way to a convention being held in Houston, and had decided to just drive rather than book a flight, but here he was–stranded in the middle of “Some Desert, Texas” in the middle of the night. He was already cutting it close, since the convention started the next morning, but this didn’t bode well at all. He got out and tried to pop the hood, but the metal was too hot too touch–instead he got his cell phone, but naturally he had no reception–that’s what he got for going with that stupid bargain network bullshit. He kicked the tire, cursing, and then leaned against the car door, wondering what in the hell he was going to do. He had zero mechanical know-how–if desperate, he could probably figure out how to change a tire, but this was obviously beyond that. It would seem, then, that the only option he had was to try and catch a ride to somewhere he might get some help.

That late at night, vehicles were few and far between. He kept the lights of the car on so people could at least see, but the first several trucks and semis he waved at didn’t even slow down for him. Finally, after a few hours–putting it well past midnight at this point–a pickup truck rolled down the highway, saw him, slowed down and pulled off the side of the road a some yards ahead of him.

Both door popped open. From the passenger side came a younger man, probably not quite old enough to be drinking yet. He was in better shape but still with a sizable paunch, balanced with a bit of muscle, wearing a sleeveless tee in the hot night, grimy looking jeans and cowboy boots. From the driver’s side, out climbed a…rather obese redneck, a full bushy beard, and long hair, wearing a pair of coveralls and boots which looked to be coated in grease. That was a good sign at least–if the guy was actually a mechanic–maybe his luck was turning around.

“Hey! Thanks for stopping–I was starting to think no one was even seeing me over here,” he said, extending a hand for the older guy, “The name’s Paul.”

“Bill,” he said with a grin, and spit something black onto the ground, “Ah don’ mind givin’ ya a hand, but it ain’t gonna be free, ya hear? Still, don’ look like ya got much choice, right?”

“I mean, of course. How much will it cost?”

“We’ll figure that out once Ah see what’s wrong. Might need tah go back to the show fer the tow truck, we’ll see. Let me poke ‘round a bit, see what’s wrong.” The young man came up, and Bill slapped him on the back, “Mah boy ‘ere can keep ya company fer a bit–say hi, Tim.”

“Hello sir,” the younger man said, his voice much less accented then his father’s, “I just hope we can help you out. I got some coffee in our cab, you fancy a drink?”

“That…that would be nice,” Paul said, and followed Tim over to the truck, while Bill popped the hood, cusing at the heat, and started looking around. It was lifted well off the ground, and Tim had to climb up into the cab–as he did, he let out a long, slightly wet fart inches from Paul’s face, behind him. The smell was gastly, burning his nose and bringing tears to his eyes, as he tried to cough it back.

“Aw shit, sorry about that. I can let real stinker’s go sometimes.”

Paul was still coughing and sneezing, but it felt like…like the smell was forcing it’s way through his nose and eyes, right into his skull. he could almost feel it in there, wrapping….wrapping itself around his brain, choking it…cutting…cutting off…

Paul didn’t bother bringing down the thermos of coffee–he just flipped over, legs hanging off the seat, watching the businessman’s eyes glaze over as he stopped coughing. He was a handsome one–looked like he worked out, probably in mid thirties or so. Dressed in a suit, hair styled nice, looking like a good cityfolk ought to look. He unbuckled his belt and dropped his jeans and jock down around his boots, rolled over and dropped to the step up into the truck, bare ass towards Paul’s face, and let loose another fart towards him, Paul sniffing the air and stumbling forward, pushing his face between the young man’s cheeks and sorting in as much of the funk as he could, his tongue licking out the filthy crack, burrowing into Tim’s hole. It was…sweaty, or greasy–something was getting on his face in any case, but for some reason he couldn’t bring himself to care. Deep inside, some part of him was screaming, the the stench in his mind had cut it off, rendered it quiet and powerless.

He had no clear idea of how long he stood there, eating out Tim’s ripe hole, as the young man pumped fart after fart in his face, forcing him to inhale all of it, but eventually Bill came around the side of the truck, apparently unsurprised by what he was seeing.

“What’s the damage, daddy?” Tim asked.

“Engine’s shredded tha bits. We’re gonna have tah tow it outta ‘ere at some point. Looks like he’s enjoyin’ himself. Fuck, still remember the first time Ah caught a whiff a yer farts son, fuckin’ changed mah life.”

“Can I bring him home, Daddy? This one’s…hungry. I think we can have some fun.”

“Oh alright. Ain’t like he’s got anywhere else tah go, right? He can stay wit us ‘till Ah git his car fixed up.”

“Ya hear that Paul? You get to stay with me for a few days! isn’t that exciting?”

Paul wasn’t listening–Bill finally grabbed the man by the hair and pulled him free from his boy’s crack. His eyes were empty and unblinking, and his previously smooth face was coated with a half inch long beard all over, which he’d sprouted over the course of his ass eating. Together they got Paul into the cab with them, squished between them on the cab’s hump, and got back on the highway, heading home, Tim giddy with excitement that his new friend would be staying with him for a good long while.